The One With The President
by Jana
Summary: Rated PG-13 for language - VERY loosely based on the movie 'American President'
1. Default Chapter

**__**

The One With The President

By: Jana~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ok, I know this concept will seem a bit far fetched, but just go with me on this.

More notes below…

*****~*****

--"…and the President is down to 40% in the recent polls, a drop from his all-time low of 43% last month…"

"Monica," Kathy gained her attention as she entered the large kitchen. "I need to talk to you."

Monica continued to fly about the kitchen as she cooked. "You'll have to talk while I cook. I am behind schedule as it is."

"That's fine," Kathy murmured as she turned the volume down on the tiny TV that was tuned to the latest news reports about the President.

"Nick wants me to bring you along tomorrow."

Monica stopped her flurried movements. "Go with?" she repeated. "As in, to the White House?"

Kathy sighed. "Yes. He thinks it will make a better impression if our best chef is there," Kathy explained. "To explain recipe possibilities or whatever. I told him I didn't think it was a very good idea…"

Monica glared at her supervisor before turning her attention back to cooking. "I have the Ontario event tomorrow," she informed.

Kathy nodded. "He knows. He says Tim can do it."

Monica scoffed, "Has he **met** Tim?"

"All he has to do is heat and serve," Kathy stated exasperatedly. "How hard can that be?"

"For Tim?" Monica chuckled shortly. "Hard."

"Look, I'm not happy about this either," Kathy grumbled. "You will just be in my way down there, but, this is what Nick wants."

"Oh, I'll try not to get in your highness' way!" she shot back sarcastically, rolling her eyes when her back was turned.

"Look, you can stop with the attitude any time now," Kathy spat. "If you weren't such a great chef, you wouldn't even **have** this job!"

"And if you didn't kiss Nick's ass every day of your life," Monica growled, "**you** wouldn't have **your** job!"

Kathy glared hard at Monica, who refused to back down off her look, even when the pot behind her started to boil over.

"Monica!" Rachel yelled, rushing towards the stove.

That caught Monica's attention, and she turned away from her stare-down with Kathy in order to tend to the food.

"The meeting is at 2," Kathy informed glibly, then left the kitchen.

Monica glared after her, then grunted in anger. "She infuriates me!"

"I know," Rachel acknowledged, "but you need to just find a way to work with her."

Monica chuckled grimly, "I don't want to."

"Oh, that's mature," Rachel laughed.

"She just brings it out in me," Monica sighed. "And now I have to go to the White House with her tomorrow."

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Nick deems it necessary," Monica replied, taking the large pot of food she had rescued off the heat.

"What about the Ontario event?"

"He wants Tim to do it."

Rachel laughed. "Has he **met** Tim?"

Monica shrugged. "Apparently, Nick thinks he can handle it."

"Well, guess we can kiss **that** event goodbye next year!" Rachel exclaimed.

"I mean, there's no point to having me there!" Monica continued. "I'm not in charge of schmoozing! I'm just the chef!"

"You're not 'just the chef', Mon," Rachel stated supportively. "You are **the** head chef of **the** most prestigious catering service in the whole United States!"

Monica smiled at her friend's praise. "I know I am important within the company, I just meant that winning new clients isn't in my job description."

"Well, Kathy will probably do most of the talking," Rachel surmised.

"Yeah," Monica agreed. "And ass kissing," she added with a smirk, causing Rachel to laugh. "You're serving at The Ontario event, right?"

"Yep!"

"Keep an eye on Tim for me?"

Rachel smiled. "Absolutely."

*****

--"Hey, Joey," Chandler greeted him as he approached.

"You dropped the whole last paragraph!" Joey whined, shaking the paper in Chandler's face.

"It was a judgement call," Chandler informed his uptight friend. "We were running long."

Joey exhaled sharply, "Why have me on staff at all if you're just gonna be dropping whole paragraphs out of the speeches?"

"Joe, relax. It was a good speech. All your speeches are good," Chandler added. "I will try not to let it happen again."

Chandler's tone, though not at all cross or upset, caused Joey to remember who he was talking to.

"I'm sorry Mr. President," Joey apologized. "It's just, you left off the best part!"

Chandler patted his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry about, sir?" Ross asked, entering the large office.

"He dropped the last paragraph!" Joey exclaimed.

"I noticed," Ross replied, smiling at Chandler. "Good morning Mr. President."

"Mornin' Ross."

"Good morning Mr. President," Phoebe greeted as she too entered the room, just behind Ross.

"Mornin' Pheebs! What's on the agenda for today?"

Phoebe flipped the agenda open to the correct day, then began to fill Chandler in on all he had on schedule.

Chandler clapped his hands, then rubbed them together, "Sounds like a busy day ahead."

"Yes, sir," Phoebe replied.

"Oh, and sir," Ross interjected, waiting for Chandler's signal before continuing. "We got the latest poll results."

The smile dropped from Chandler's face as he nodded. "Alright. Up or down?"

"Um," Ross hesitated. "Down, sir."

Chandler sighed, "By how much?"

"Three points, sir," Ross replied.

"I don't get it!" Chandler exclaimed. "I'm a good guy, right?"

"Yes, sir." "Of course, sir." "Absolutely, sir," came the responses from his friends and employees.

"I mean, I know I'm no Andrew Douglas, but, I'm doing my best!" Chandler sighed, "Why do the numbers drop lower and lower every month?"

They all fidgeted slightly, until Ross eventually spoke up. 

"If I could speak with you alone, sir?"

Phoebe and Joey immediately took the hint.

"I have a few calls to make," Phoebe announced as she closed the agenda and turned towards the door.

"And I have to write another speech that you'll just hack the end off of," Joey teased as he followed behind Phoebe.

Chandler chuckled. "Thanks guys."

The two men stared at each other until the door clicked closed, then Chandler gave Ross an up-nod… a gesture to speak freely.

"The public sees you as immature, sir. You are the youngest president to take office. You are unmarried, and you have a casual approach that some view as a poor quality in a leader."

"What happened to the idea that some will see all of that as a positive?" Chandler asked. "That some will see me as an 'everyday man like them'? They out hiding when the poll gets passed?"

Ross sighed, "I'm not sure, Mr. President."

"Ross, call me Chandler! When we're alone, having a conversation, you can call me Chandler. It is my name, ya'know."

"Yes, sir, but I will not be addressing you in that casual manner."

"Why? Cause I'm the president? Because I'm your boss?" Chandler groaned. "We've been friends a long time, haven't we?"

"Yes, sir. Since college."

"I think, regardless to my title, that we know each other well enough for you to call me by my given name."

"Yes, sir," Ross replied stiffly.

"But you won't, will you?"

"No, sir."

"Fine," Chandler sighed. "So, tell me, what do I do to fix this?"

***

--"It's hard for him," Phoebe mused as she and Joey spoke softly at her desk. "He loved Andy like a brother. He only ran as his vice-president because he was so certain Andy was a strong enough leader to be both president **and** vice-president."

"I hate to say it," Joey whispered sotto, "but he doesn't seem very… political."

"Well, his dad pushed him into it," Phoebe explained. "When he met Andy, Andy sort of took him under his wing. Chandler still had so much to learn when he agreed to run as Andy's vice-president. He even said no at first," Phoebe informed in a whisper. "But when Andy's other running mate bowed out… Chandler was the only other man Andy would consider. Chandler agreed as a favor. He did it cause he knew that if Andy didn't have a running mate, he would have to drop out."

"Didn't he realize that he would have to, 'do stuff'?" Joey asked. "You know, political-type stuff?"

"Well, sure! But he always thought he would have Andy's guidance! When he died, it left Chandler without that unique tutelage. Luckily," she added, "Ross is a great advisor."

"Maybe that's why his numbers are so low?" Joey questioned. "Because people sense he doesn't exactly know what he's doing?"

Phoebe just shrugged.

****

TBC ?

Ok, I need feedback guys! I will continue if people are interested, but if people think this is just too far fetched, I'll stop and pull it. PLEASE, let me know!

Please leave a review!


	2. Two

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Two

By: Jana~

*****

--Adrenaline shot through Monica as she and Kathy approached the White House security office. She hadn't really given it much thought, she had been too busy being annoyed by the disruption in her schedule, but now that the moment was upon her, she was nervous.

She was about to enter **the** White House. She was about to meet **the** President of the United States. Even having Kathy by her side didn't take away from the excitement she was suddenly feeling, and she gushed uncharacteristically as she entered the guard shack just inside the White House gates.

"I'm Monica Geller," she told the guard cheerfully, and he smiled in return. "This is my first time here."

"He doesn't care," Kathy informed Monica sotto, then smiled at the guard apologetically.

"I've never even been on the tour," Monica informed further, bouncing in place just slightly out of nervousness.

"He **doesn't** care, Monica," Kathy grumbled through gritted teeth, a forced smile on her face.

"Sure I do!" the guard exclaimed, still smiling at Monica's excited demeanor. "Monica Geller," he said as he handed her a badge, "Knock 'em dead."

Monica smiled at the guard, then smirked at Kathy triumphantly.

*****

--"OK, Pheebs, what's next on the agenda?" Chandler asked after his 2:00 appointment left his office.

She only glanced at the appointment book in her hand. "Your next appointment isn't until 3."

Chandler looked at his watch and smiled. "Eight minutes! Whatever shall I do with **all this** free time?" he asked humorously.

Phoebe smiled. "Ross is still in his 2:00 meeting with A Touch Of Elegance catering service."

"Ok, well, I guess I'll go see how that's going," he informed as he headed for the door, but then he stopped. "They brought samples, right?" A sly grin followed the question.

"Yes, sir," Phoebe replied. "They brought samples."

"Yum!" he exclaimed, then continued out the door.

***

--"So, the President won't be joining us?" Monica asked Ross, their meeting well under way.

"No, I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. "He's busy in meetings all day."

"Well, with all due respect," Monica inquired, "How can he decide if he likes our cuisine if he isn't here to sample it?"

"I assure you, Ms. Geller, the President trusts my judgement in these matters."

"Well, ok, but, I was really under the impression that I was needed here, so that I could discuss the menu options with the President and such."

"You're making a scene," Kathy told Monica through gritted teeth, her fake forced smile instantly making Monica angry. "I must apologize for Monica," Kathy said to Ross. "She's our best chef, it's just her people skills that are lacking."

Monica scoffed. "Yeah, when company comes over, they chain me to a post out in the backyard," she drolled sarcastically, unaware that the President had just entered the room.

Chandler held up his hand when he made eye contact with Ross, indicating that he didn't want attention brought to the fact that he was there. Ross only smiled slightly as he remained in his seat. 

"I am sitting right next to you," Monica snapped quietly at Kathy. "You don't have to act like I'm not even in the room!"

"You're still making a scene," Kathy stated in a very soft sing-song tone of voice, angering Monica further.

"You know what, it wasn't **my** idea to come here! I had prior commitments! I was **needed** elsewhere! You didn't even need me here! And what's worse, you didn't **want** me here! But you drug me along Anyway! Like some trophy or something! You've been talking down to me ever since we left, telling me what I can and cannot say! And now you're here belittling me, right in front of me, all the while talking about me like I'm not even in the room! Implying I have no social skills what-so-ever!" 

Monica turned to Ross, "And I'm sorry, I know the President must be a very busy man, but he couldn't have scheduled this meeting when he could take 5 minutes to meet with us?!"

It was then that Chandler decided to make his presence known. "Let's take him out back and beat the shit out of him!"

Phoebe, who was behind him, chuckled, and Ross smirked as he stood… the only ones not smiling or laughing were Monica and Kathy.

They both stood, as was proper when the President entered a room, and Kathy immediately cringed, while Monica turned every shade of red in the book.

"I am so sorry Mr. President," Kathy began to apologize, "Monica-- it's Monica's first time in a situation like this, and she--"

"Ross," Chandler held his hand up at Kathy as he addressed his advisor, only needing to speak his name to convey what he was asking of him.

Formal introductions.

"Mr. President, may I present Ms. Kathy Brewster, and Ms. Monica Geller."

Chandler seemed surprised by the name, and he pointed at Ross while he looked from Ross to Monica, then back again. "Geller?" he asked. "Any relation?"

"No, sir," Ross replied. "We actually had a bit of a chuckle about that earlier."

"There was laughter earlier?" Chandler asked. "You mean the meeting didn't start out with all this hostility?"

"Sir, can I just say that, to hold the service responsible for my--"

"Ms. Geller," Chandler interrupted Monica in mid-apology. "Could I see you privately for a moment?"

She stammered before replying. "Um, ok. Yeah."

"Ms. Buffay, please show Ms. Geller to my office."

***

--Monica was immediately intimidated by her surroundings, watching as the blond secretary smiled while closing the doors, leaving her alone.

It was seconds later when Chandler entered the office. "I'm afraid I only have a minute," he informed, getting abruptly bombarded by Monica's nervous babblings.

"Mr. President, I am **so** sorry! Kathy- Ms. Brewster- she's my supervisor, and she really just doesn't like me-- She ordered me to come today, and I'm just not good in these type situations! And she was ridiculing me, like she does **every day**, and I guess I just lost me temper. I am **so, so** sorry! And to hold A Touch Of Elegance responsible for my outburst--"

"Ms. Geller," Chandler interrupted her fastly spoken run-on sentence. "Are you under the impression that I'm angry with you?"

She seemed perplexed. "Aren't you?"

He smiled. "No. I just asked to meet with you privately before you went on to apologize in front of your supervisor. I'm guessing that would have made your working environment even more like hell, am I right?"

She smiled just slightly. "You could say that, yeah." The smile dropped from her face as quickly as it had shown. "Still, I am really very sorry."

"For what?" he asked as he waved Phoebe away, who had entered just long enough to point at her watch, indicating that his time was short.

"For including you in my tirade," she explained.

"Believe me, it's not the first time someone has spouted angry words about me, and I'm certain it won't be the last."

"Still, they usually don't spout off angry words about the president mere feet from the oval office."

"True," he agreed. "They usually wait till after they leave. Then they go on television to do it," he added with a short chuckle.

She found herself smiling again at this charming man. "I wasn't upset with you," she continued. "It was--" she gestured back towards the room her supervisor sat in wait in. 

"Understood," he nodded. "So, look, since you're not angry with me and all, maybe you would like to grab a cup of coffee sometime?"

She stood silent for a second or two, confused. "What?"

"You know," he clarified, "Coffee? Maybe a donut or a muffin?"

Completely dumbfounded, she found no words to reply with.

He could sense she was overwhelmed. "Look, it's been a weird day for you, I'm sure. Why don't I just give you some time to think about it. I could call you later?"

She nodded, then moved towards the nearest exit, assuming that was her cue to leave.

"Monica," he called out, "You can't leave that way."

Misunderstanding what he meant, she replied, "Oh, no, I'm fine."

He smiled. "No, what I meant was, you can't leave out that door."

She looked at the door in question, then looked back at him. "What?"

"That's not the exit," he said with a slight chuckle. "That is the door to my private office. You go through **that** door, and you'll have about a dozen secret service agents converging on you."

She backed away from the door, stumbling slightly. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright," he assured her, then gestured towards the correct door. "You want this door," he added, then escorted her to it.

After mumbling a thank you, she side-stepped out the door and out of Chandler's line of vision.

--She was beautiful. He'd thought so instantly. And what a fiery spirit.

"Your 3:00 meeting sir?" Phoebe brought him back to reality.

He nodded. "Tell Ross to hire the catering company," he told her as he took the bottle of water she offered him from her outstretched hand, taking a quick drink. "And find out Ms. Monica Geller's phone number for me please?"

"Yes, sir," Phoebe replied dutifully as she jotted down his requests.

*****

--"I'm telling you Rache," Monica said to her friend and roommate, "It happened just like that!"

"No bullshit?" Rachel asked, not sure if she should believe her friend's tale.

"No bullshit!"

"And he actually said he was going to call you?"

"Yeah," Monica replied, "But I didn't give him my number, so, I doubt he will. Just as well," she added.

"Why 'just as well'?"

"Well, cause," she scoffed, "He's the president!"

"So?"

"So?!" Monica repeated. "So… he's **The President**! I can't date the president!"

"Why not?"

"Ugh!" Monica groaned, "I don't know! Cause he's… **The President**!"

"Ok, so, we've established what his job is. **Twice**!"

"It would be too complicated!" Monica attempted to explain. "Besides, all of this is a moot point anyway. I didn't give him the number!"

Just then the phone rang, and Monica quickly wiped her hands on her apron before picking it up. "Hello?"

Her eyes grew wide as she listened for a moment, then she covered the mouthpiece and looked at Rachel with a look that bordered on horror.

"Or, since he's the president, he'll find a way to get it on his own."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "Nooooo!"

Monica just nodded, then put the phone back to her ear. "Yes, Mr. President. I'm here…"

****

TBC

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Please leave a review!


	3. Three

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Three

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--He'd heard a rustling noise, and then muffled talking, which led him to assume that Monica had covered the mouthpiece.

"Hello?" he called into the phone, checking to see if she was still on the line. "Ms. Geller, are you there?"

"Yes, Mr. President," she answered respectfully. "I'm here."

"Please, call me Chandler," he requested, but when getting nothing in the way of a response, he continued with his reason for calling. "I was calling to see if you would maybe like to grab a cup of coffee sometime."

She scowled at the floor, ignoring Rachel who kept insistently whispering "What's he saying? What's he saying?"

"You were serious about that?" Monica asked, perplexed.

"Yes," he answered simply. "I was."

Rachel by this point was making wild hand gestures in an attempt to convey to Monica what she so urgently wanted to know; was he asking her out? Monica hushed her with a loud hiss as she tried to focus on the phone call.

"Excuse me for asking, but, how did you even get my number?"

Chandler paused, not knowing what the answer to that question was. He'd asked Phoebe to get the number, and she did. He never questioned how. "Um, probably from the FBI or something," he replied eventually.

"Well, sure," Monica gestured in acceptance. "Cause if you want a phone number, and you're the president, that's where'd you go!" she exclaimed.

"Is it **not** alright that I've called you at home?" he asked sincerely. "Cause I could call you at work tomorrow," he offered. "If that's better for you."

"No, no," she assured him. "This is fine."

Chandler smiled. "So, about coffee?"

Monica sighed. "Look, Mr. President, I really don't think that's such a good idea."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "You're seeing someone?"

"Well, no," she admitted.

"Ok. Well, then can I ask what the problem is?"

"**You** are the problem," she replied.

Chandler couldn't help but chuckle. "I beg your pardon."

"No, sorry," she stammered. "That didn't come out right."

"That's alright," he assured her.

"It's just-- Look, you're-- You're the President," she stated as her entire point.

"Right…?" He encouraged her to elaborate with his tone of voice.

"Am I the only person who sees this as a potential problem?"

"There's a potential problem?"

"Well, yeah!" she exclaimed. "I'm just a chef, you're the leader of the free world!--"

"Chefs don't go out on dates?" he asked as he interrupted.

"No- yes, they do!" she struggled with her words. "I do occasionally, but…" she trailed off, then got her thoughts together. "Thing is, is, do you?"

"I've been out on a few dates," he replied. "Mind you, not since taking office. Or during the campaign either. But before that, I'd had a few dates, yeah."

She hesitated before asking, "So, why me?"

"Why you?" he questioned. "Why you what?"

"Why ask me?" she clarified.

"You mean, on a date?"

She involuntarily took a deep breath. "Yeah."

He gave her question thought before responding. "When I saw you sitting there, telling off your boss, I just knew I wanted to get to know you better."

Monica scoffed, "I wasn't exactly showing you my best side at that particular moment."

He smiled. "Well, if that was your worst side, and I **still** want to grab a cup of coffee with you, that bodes well for you, don't'cha think?"

She couldn't help but chuckle, but the smile soon dropped from her face. "I'm no one special," she almost whispered after a brief pause.

"Would you mind if I made that decision for myself?"

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

"Do what?" he asked hopefully.

"Say 'yes'," she said.

His smile grew. "I can send a car," he offered, and she accepted by rattling off her address.

He didn't have the heart to tell her that her address had been provided to him already when he was given her phone number.

*****

--She wasn't exactly sure what to expect, especially after the whirlwind of activity she had just been in the center of. It all added to a very surreal experience.

She had been picked up at her apartment and delivered to the White House, then escorted to a room where she was left to wait alone. Alone, except for the armed secret service agents who were undoubtedly standing guard just outside of every exit.

She hugged herself nervously as she looked around the large office-type room, wondering briefly what purpose it served. She quickly decided it was probably for recreation, since it had a foosball table, a dart board, and a small self-serve bar.

He entered the room in casual attire; a simple button-up shirt with a sweater vest over top of it, and khaki pants rounding off the ensemble. He seemed more casual then she expected.

"Good evening," he said with a smile that she was certain was supposed to put her at ease. It didn't.

"Hi," she nodded, trying for a smile.

"You alright?" he asked considerately. "You look nervous."

She scoffed. "There's an understatement!"

"Well, truth be told," he admitted. "I am too a little bit."

"Why are **you** nervous?" she asked.

"Well, I'm a bit rusty at this."

"Oh. Well, I think this is somewhat ground breaking stuff here."

"What is?" he asked. "A president dating?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He gestured to an elegant ceramic coffeepot, then picked it up and began to pour coffee into one of the two matching mugs that sat along side it.

"Cream? Sugar?" he asked.

"A little of both, please. Thank you."

With small shiny metal tongs, he took a small cube of sugar from the matching sugar bowl and dropped it into the second mug, adding a little cream from the matching creamer before pouring in the coffee.

"Please excuse me, but, when you asked me out for coffee, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, handing her the cup before gesturing to the couch.

Monica sat on the obviously-expensive leather couch, waiting for him to join her before continuing.

"I guess I just figured we'd go out to Starbucks or something and grab a cup," she explained. "This," she gestured to the room and situation as a whole, "Didn't even enter my mind."

"Well," he smiled, "Why go to Starbucks when you can bring Starbucks to you?"

She shrugged, "I guess." She carefully sipped her hot coffee, unsure of what to say next.

"My security people get freaked if I want to go anywhere impromptu," he explained. "Besides, this way, we're not on display."

"True," she agreed.

"So," he asked, changing the subject, "What kind of men do you usually date?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "I don't really have a 'type', if that's what you're asking."

A grin accompanied his nod.

She turned the table on him, so to speak. "What about you?"

"Well, I don't really date men," he joked, to which she chuckled. "I guess I don't really have a type either," he added seriously.

He watched as her eyes wandered, then fell on the foosball table. "You play?"

She smiled at getting caught. "I don't often, but I have been known to kick a few butts." She wondered if such language around the president was appropriate. "Sorry," she apologized.

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For that remark."

"Why?" he asked with a smile. "Were you lying?"

"No." She couldn't help but smirk. "I just-- I don't know what I can and can't say here."

He shook his head, "Don't think of me as the president," he told her. "Think of me as any other guy."

"Kinda hard," she told him. "You **are** the president."

Smiling, he stood. "I'll play you," he suggested, tapping the table as he moved to the far side.

"Is it customary to let the president win?" she asked as she joined him.

"Throw the game?" he asked, and she nodded. "Some do, but I can usually tell when someone is holding back."

"So," she asked as she gave a few handles a twist, "I should **not** purposefully lose to you?"

He shrugged, "I'll be able to tell, probably, if you do."

"So, you won't have secret service throw me out if I win?"

He chuckled. "Pretty confident, aren't you?"

Her smile widened. "What can I say?" she asked rhetorically. "I'm **good**!"

He held up the small ping-pong-sized foosball, "We'll just see, won't we?"

He tossed the ball into play, immediately seeing Monica's competitive side kick in.

***

--Monica raised her hands in victory, gloating over her latest goal. "One more goal and I win. **Again**!"

Chandler kept his concentration on the game, trying his best to score at least one goal, this 'friendly' game showing him just how bad he really was at this particular table sport.

"Score and game!" Monica announced triumphantly. "You suck!"

He laughed. "I think everyone around me is either throwing games **big time**, or they all suck worse than I do!"

"I'm willing to guess a little of both," she chuckled, but the smile on her face soon dropped.

He could see the change in her demeanor. "Sure glad we didn't have a bet going or something! I could've lost a lot of money to you tonight!" Her smile returned. "This was fun," he stated softly, his smile slight but genuine.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I had fun too."

"So, look, um… how do you feel about big parties?"

"Big parties?" she questioned.

"Yeah. I have this-- well, this **thing** I have to do next week. Lots of diplomats and such. Should be a regular snooze-fest," he admitted with a smile. "Would you maybe be interested in being my date?"

Her brow furrowed. "You're asking me out on another date?"

He chuckled. "Did I not do it right?"

"No, no," she shook her head. "It's not that! I guess I'm just… surprised."

"Why?"

"Well, I creamed you in foosball for one!"

"True," he acknowledged, "But I thoroughly enjoyed loosing to you," he added with a grin.

"Are you a masochist or something?" she asked with a smirk.

"If being in your company is a kind of pain, then yes, I am."

Her gaze dropped to the floor as she shook her head just slightly. "Do you have any idea how sweet and, well, **corny** that was?"

"Well, I was just going for sweet," he muttered humorously. "Is that a yes?"

"Would I have to, **do** anything special?" she asked.

"My secretary will walk you through everything," he informed. "Phoebe Buffay. She'll call you within the next couple days."

She nodded. "Alright…"

****

TBC

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	4. Four

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Four

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"He asked you out again?" Rachel squealed, causing Monica to cringe.

"Yes," Monica affirmed. "To some, big political hoopla."

"Oh my God," Rachel muttered with wide eyes. "You know what this means, don't you?" Monica just rolled her eyes at what she sensed was coming. "You're the President's girlfriend!"

An exasperated sigh preceded an exasperated look. "Rachel, I think you're getting just a little bit ahead of yourself here."

"No, no," she insisted. "I know what I'm talking about here! He asked you out on a second date!" she added excitedly. "This is **huge**!"

"You're making this out to be bigger than it is," Monica mumbled.

"You're making this out to be **smaller** than it is!" Rachel countered. "It's not every day that the President of the United States asks you out on a date! Let alone **two**!"

"Look, I'm not saying that this isn't, **significant**. I'm just saying that-- It's just- it's--"

"What?" Rachel asked, sensing by Monica's stutterings that something was wrong.

"He's the President, Rachel," Monica sighed. "I'm just- I'm not so sure I should go to this thing next week."

"Well--" Rachel scowled. "I don't understand. I thought you said you had fun tonight!"

"I did! He actually has this really great sense of humor! And he's really nice, and he is a gracious loser at foosball…" Her smile grew as she spoke about him.

Rachel's smile grew in response. "You are **so** into him!"

"After one date?" she dismissed Rachel with a snort. "Doubtful."

"You should go, Mon," Rachel said supportively. "He sounds like a good guy."

"Yeah…"

"If he **wasn't** the president," Rachel asked, "Could you see yourself dating him?"

Monica nodded. "Yeah."

Rachel placed her hand on her friend's shoulder. "Then, there's your answer."

Monica smiled. "Ok," she said as she gave Rachel a hug. "I'll date the president. But I'm only doing this for you," she added jokingly.

"Of course," Rachel chuckled. "Now, onto the important question!"

"Which is?"

"What are you gonna wear?!"

*****

--"Are you sure this is such a good idea, sir?" Ross questioned his boss. "Your numbers are already so low. Maybe we should focus on **that** before you start a relationship," he suggested, waiting for Joey to finish his turn at darts.

"Look, Ross, I know you're just trying to be a good advisor, but let's drop the titles at the door and just talk like friends," Chandler suggested. "Alright? I like her," he muttered softly. "And I think she likes me."

"Well, ya'know," Joey interjected, "If you're looking for some lovin', we could always get you a hooker or something."

"That was inappropriate, Joe," Ross scolded.

"Sorr-rry!" Joey snipped, then continued with his turn, throwing the darts a little harder than before.

Ross rolled his eyes at Joey's childishness. "Look, sir, if you would like some female companionship, there are **discreet** ways of handling that."

"How is that better than what **I** said?" Joey challenged.

"Well, for one thing, I showed a little more tact," Ross snipped.

"Guys? Can you stop talking about hookers for a minute and listen to me?!"

Joey shrugged and headed for the dartboard to remove the darts he'd just played.

"I'm not looking to get laid!" Chandler told them sternly. "I really felt a connection to Monica, ya'know? I really had a good time with her, and I would like to continue seeing her socially. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"It's not hard to understand, sir," Ross said as he took the darts from Joey and began his turn. "It just might not be the best thing to do for your career."

"What career?" Chandler shot back. "This isn't my career! It was **Andy's** career! It's what my **dad wanted** for me as a career! But it's certainly **not** a career as far as **I'm** concerned! I'm seeing my commitment through, then I'm retiring."

"You're not even going to **try** to run for re-election?" Ross questioned.

"No, Ross! The people don't like me! They need a leader they can feel comfortable with! They don't think I can do this job!" He scowled, "And maybe they're right."

Ross shook his head slightly before throwing one of the darts. "You don't give yourself enough credit, sir."

"Let me ask you this, Ross. And I want you to answer me honestly. If Andy hadn't been such a great politician; if people had looked a little more closely at **me** as a politician, would we have won the election?"

Joey fidgeted as Ross struggled to come up with an answer, dropping his hand without throwing the next dart.

"Just talk to me!" Chandler insisted when Ross remained silent. "Talk to me like I'm a person and **not** the fucking President of the United States!" he yelled, irritated by all the tip-toeing everyone did around him.

Ross sighed. "No, sir. Probably not."

"The people want me to step down, so, when the term is over, that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"But, sir, whether they looked closely at your political past before the election is irrelevant! You are in office **now**, and if you just show them--"

"No, Ross!" Chandler cut him off. "Don't tell me flowery stories about how if we do this or that, my numbers will climb and I'll be a most beloved president, cause it's just not true! The polls show my unpopularity! They show that the people of this country have no faith in me--!"

"Bullshit, **Chandler**!" Ross shouted. "The polls show that a select few question your abilities, but if we **show** them you can do this job, your numbers **will** climb! If you would just **let** me do my job!" he exclaimed. "I know what I'm doing! If you would just **stop** tying my hands--!"

"You dare to yell at The President?!" Chandler challenged, interrupting Ross' rant.

Ross paused, gathering his composure before responding. "I'm sorry, sir. I let my emotions get the better of me. It won't happen again."

"I wasn't **serious**, Ross!" Chandler sighed. "I **hate** this! I hate all the tip-toeing, and walking on egg shells! It's like, I'm not even a **person** anymore! I'm just the title!" He took the darts off the board after Ross threw his last one, then threw the first dart with force. "I just want to be Chandler again," he muttered softly, then threw the second dart as hard as the first.

"You're still Chandler," Joey offered.

"Your position just demands a certain respect," Ross added.

"Yeah, well, respect breeds distance," Chandler sighed, then threw the last two darts in rapid succession before walking out the door, slamming it as he left.

*****

--Monica was greeted warmly by the blonde she knew better by voice than by face. Phoebe had spoken to her several times over the past week, preparing her for the event and what would be expected of her at it.

"Monica, hi!" Phoebe greeted as she approached.

"Phoebe," Monica acknowledged her with a smile.

"You look great," Phoebe complimented, then leaned in to speak sotto. "Just a reminder; the President will enter with the ambassador and his wife, and you will be escorted in by a military guardsman, ok?"

"Yep. I remember."

Phoebe smiled. "Great. And the president would like to see you before all this starts."

Monica inhaled and exhaled to settle her nerves. "Alright."

"Alright," Phoebe repeated with a grin. "Follow me."

Monica could tell that the woman leading the way truly cared for Chandler, and not just because it was her job to.

--She knocked quietly, then waited for permission to enter.

"Yes, come in," Chandler called out, turning to face the door.

"Mr. President," Phoebe said after opening the door and peeking in. "Ms. Geller is here." She opened the door further and gestured for Monica to enter.

She stepped one foot into the room, the butterflies starting all over again as he smiled at her.

"Six minutes, sir," Phoebe informed, then silently excused herself.

Chandler took a step closer to her, "I'm so glad you're here."

"You are?" she asked.

He nodded. "You look, beautiful," he stated in almost a whisper, causing Monica to instantly blush.

"You too," she replied, at a loss for words.

His smile grew. "Thank you. I can't seem to get this tie straight though," he added, tugging at it and loosening it. "I don't suppose you know how to do these?"

Monica moved closer, tentatively placing her hands on the tie hanging loosely around his neck, working it into a bow.

"There you go," she said as she gestured towards the mirror, encouraging him to check it out for himself.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Looks good!"

"Thanks," she smiled. "I have that kind of mom who thinks I'll 'never land a man if you don't learn to tie their ties for them!' " She imitated her mom's tone of voice, laughing when Chandler chuckled. "She drives me nuts."

"Don't most moms?" he asked jokingly.

"Mr. President?" Phoebe poked her head in after a brief knock. "We're ready for you."

He nodded, then extended his arm to Monica. "Shall we?"

She nodded in response and linked arms with him.

****

TBC

Ok, getting lots of great reviews… keep it up! 

Please leave a review!


	5. Five

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Five

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Monica hadn't been able to say two words to Chandler, it seemed, what with everyone at their table engaging him in polite conversation. She accepted it as par for the course, and quietly kept to herself as she listened to opinions being shared on topics of little interest to her.

Chandler was a courteous host, involved in the discussions around him, helping to keep tensions down when the topics became too heated. Monica found herself chuckling on more than one occasion as he would make a quip to help lighten the mood, and he would always smile warmly at her when she did.

--Chandler leaned towards Monica when Ross had the floor, everyone's attention away from him and on his advisor. "Sorry this is so boring for you," he stated quietly.

She smiled at his concern. "I'm fine," she assured him.

"You know what this party needs?" he asked.

She shook her head only slightly. "No, what?"

"Dancing," he replied, then stood. "Will you dance with me?"

She felt herself blush for what had to have been the umpteenth time that night, then stood and accepted his outstretched hand. "Yes, I will."

He smiled as he led her out onto the dance floor, and immediately, all eyes were on them.

As he placed one hand carefully on her waist, the other grasped her hand gently, extended outward as she placed her other hand on his shoulder. A very proper position for dancing in, in such a proper setting. Then, they began to dance.

She felt self-conscious knowing so many people were watching her, murmuring about her, curious about her. If it hadn't been such an awkward situation, she would have enjoyed herself more. Maybe even moved in closer and placed her head on his chest, but she didn't dare attempt that. Not while so many watched her and scrutinized her. Not while persons from the press snapped pictures.

Phoebe said there would be media present at the event, Monica remembered.

"I don't know how you do it," she told him through her strained smile, trying to keep up appearances for the sake of all around her.

"Do what?" he asked, a similar smile plastered across his face.

"There are about 200 pairs of eyes staring at you right now," she near-whispered, "All probably asking themselves 2 questions. One, who is this woman, and two, why is she dancing with the President?"

"Well, for starters," he said in a tone as quiet as hers, "The 200 pairs of eyes are on you, not me." He gave her hand a tiny squeeze of support. "And the answers to their questions are: Monica Geller, and because she said yes."

*****

--"Nightcap?" he asked as they entered his private rec room.

"Sure. Scotch on the rocks with a twist, please."

He smiled and nodded as he began to fill her order, then poured himself the same, minus the twist.

She accepted the drink from him as he gestured for her to sit on the couch nearest her, he then taking a seat across from her once she was comfortable.

She took a sip of the hard liquor, exhaling sharply at its strength.

"I hope the night wasn't too unbearable for you," he said after taking a drink of his own. 

She shook her head. "Not at all. It was… fun."

He laughed at the pause before the word fun. "You lie, but thank you for that. I felt bad," he added, "Seeing how uncomfortable you were amongst all those people."

"Oh, it wasn't the amount of people," she informed. "I cater parties for as big a crowd as that all the time!"

He smiled, "Then, what was it?"

She shrugged. "I just felt, out of place. Politics aren't really my thing."

"Mine either," he said in all seriousness.

She looked stunned. "How can that be? You're the president!"

"I know," he chuckled. "It's just not where my passion lies."

"So, where **does** your passion lie?" she asked.

He looked down at his glass, then took a drink before responding. "Writing."

"Writing? Creative writing? Journalism?"

"Creative writing. Comedy writing. I love to make people laugh."

"I've noticed," she said with a smile. "You have a wonderful sense of humor."

He nodded as a thank you. "You have a beautiful smile."

She blushed. "Thank you, Mr. President."

"Please," he insisted, "Call me Chandler."

Her only response was to avoid eye contact and take another sip of her drink. She was already starting to feel a little warm from the affects of the alcohol.

"Do you think there will ever be a time where you can be in a room with me and **not** be this nervous? **Not** think of me as the president?"

She shrugged. "You **are** the president."

He sighed. "When we were playing foosball, you dropped your guard with me. You played the game, and who I was, my title, didn't matter."

"When competing, I get sorta, in a zone. My mind was on winning."

"And that's fine! It was a fun game!" He grinned. "Even though you **did** beat me unmercifully!"

She chuckled at his joke, her smile returning.

"I want you to be comfortable around me," he told her, placing his drink on the coffee table that sat between them, separating them.

"I think that's going to take some time," she replied.

He nodded. "Fair enough." He stood, and she followed him with her eyes. "Dance with me?"

"Here?"

"Well," he grinned, "We could go find 200 people to dance in front of, if you'd rather."

She grinned in return as she accepted his extended hand. "No, no. That's ok."

He took her hand in his, reaching for the nearby remote to the stereo, clicking on a CD that was already in the player from before. Eric Clapton's 'You Look Wonderful Tonight' filled the room, and Monica smiled as he led her to a more open space in the room.

"I love this song," she admitted, taking a stance with him that was not unlike the position they had danced in earlier.

"Yeah?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face as he started to sway with her.

"You knew that somehow," she asked. "Didn't you?"

"A little birdy might've told me," he replied, his smile growing wider.

Monica remained silent, her brain trying to remember any recent conversation where she might have told someone, anyone, what her favorite song was.

She pulled back just enough to look at his face. "Does this little birdy by any chance have blonde hair?"

He chuckled. "Maybe."

She shook her head as she moved closer into him. "I wondered at the time what was up with all the questions," she murmured.

"I didn't ask her to," he informed. "If that helps."

"Oh, I'm not upset," she told him softly, then stiffened slightly. He could feel her grow tense. "This is just all really new to me," she added hesitantly.

He nodded, pulling her just a little closer to him. She instinctively placed her head against his chest, and he gently took his left hand and wrapped it around her waist in response. Once free from his gentle grasp, her right hand slid up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

It was like a hug set in motion, and he brought his face in closer to her, nuzzling his head against hers, his lips inches from the hollow of her shoulder.

The feel of his breath on her neck sent shivers up her spine, the soft sigh and slight shudder that followed, Chandler's only cue that she was enjoying the closeness as much as he was.

The song was almost over, and Monica feared that with the end of the song would come the end of the closeness.

"Chandler?" she whispered, and he smiled at the sound of his name on her lips.

"Yes?"

"This is nice."

The urge to kiss her shot through him like a bolt of electricity, and he tilted in just enough so that his lips made contact with her soft skin.

A slight gasp escaped her, but she made no attempt to pull away from him. Her reaction was surprise, not disgust, and he felt his heart begin to race, leaving his lips on her for a few more seconds before pulling back to look into her eyes.

The music stopped, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the look shared between them. He slowly moved his hand to her face, brushing her hair back and away from her face as he raked his fingers through. 

As he inched closer, her eyes fluttered shut, awaiting his lips on hers. It seemed to take forever before he reached her, and when she felt his soft lips brush hers, she grasped firmly, but not at all painfully at his shoulder.

And the kiss grew, starting tentatively, then turning passionate, then finally, it slowed and they parted, breathless.

They stared at each other for several moments before Monica finally spoke up.

"It's getting late," she muttered as she looked away and for her purse. "I have work tomorrow--"

"Don't," he said simply, and she stopped what she was doing and looked to him.

"What?"

"Don't distance yourself from me," he nearly whispered, sounding almost pained.

She smiled. "I thought for a second you meant don't leave."

He smiled in return. "I **don't** want you to leave."

She nodded. "I have to though. If I'm late tomorrow-" she hesitated, then chuckled. "I just don't want to give Kathy any ammunition. She bitches at me **without** just cause," she added. "Think of what she'll do **with** just cause!"

A courteous smile crossed his face as he looked down at his shoes, scuffing one across the floor as he leaned against the foosball table.

Misunderstanding her abrupt need for retreat, he assumed the worst. The kiss was bad, or she didn't feel the same way. Or he was just simply moving too fast. She had hang-ups because he was the president… he should have waited to kiss her. When she was more comfortable around him. He'd blown it.

Monica could tell by the expression on his face what he was thinking. His eyes were downcast, but as she started to approach him, he looked up at her. She tossed her purse onto the foosball table behind him, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He immediately snaked his arms around her waist, a smile taking the place of his worry lines.

"I don't see much distance between us at the moment," she purred, then kissed his lips softly. "Do you?"

He smiled. "Not anymore."

"Good." She reached past him and grabbed her purse.

"When can I see you again?" he asked, his hand on her hip, that simple contact keeping her from turning away to leave.

"I'll have to check my schedule tomorrow when I get in," she told him. "Call me tomorrow evening?"

He nodded. "Absolutely."

"K." She smiled before moving to leave, but he stopped her by placing both hands on her hips. "I really do have to leave," she smirked, her hands traveling up his arms till they passed his shoulders to meet behind his neck.

"I know," he breathed, "But I wanted to kiss you goodbye."

"Kiss me goodbye?" she asked with a grin, "Or kiss me in an attempt to get me to stay?"

He only smiled in response as he leaned in and met her lips with his. It was a soft and tender kiss, demanding nothing, yet expressing everything.

"Now," he asked as he pulled back just slightly, his face still inches from hers, "Do you want to stay or leave?"

"I **have** to leave," she stated seriously. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok," he assured her, releasing the gentle hold he had on her hips. "Another time perhaps."

She grinned. "Absolutely."

He walked her to the door, then reached for the knob to open it, stopping short of doing so. "Goodnight, Monica."

"Goodnight, Mr.--" she stopped abrupt, smiling. "Chandler," she corrected herself.

"Mr. Chandler," he said with a laugh. "Last time I was called that was by my family's gay houseboy."

"Ok," she grimaced, "I think that story is best left for another time."

"Yeah," he agreed, then opened the door, a security agent immediately standing at attention. "Ms. Geller needs an escort to her car please," he told the guard, getting a nod from him in response. "I'll call you tomorrow," he promised, and Monica nodded. 

She turned towards the agent, following as he gestured for her to do so.

"Monica?" Chandler called out, and she turned back around, as did the agent. "You look wonderful tonight."

An embarrassed smile crept across her face. "Thank you."

He smiled and nodded, watching as she continued down the hall and out of his line of vision.

He walked towards his private residence, softly humming to himself…

"Darling, you were wonderful tonight…"

****

TBC

**Ok, folks, still looking for reviews! If I don't have feedback, I assume you don't like the story and I lose interest in writing it! So, take a sec and let me know what you think please!

Please leave a review!


	6. Six

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Six

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Your 4 o'clock appointment has been moved to 3," Phoebe advised as she ran her finger over the pages of the agenda she balanced in her free hand, "Your 3 o'clock appointment has been moved to 2, your 4 o'clock appointment has been cancelled, and--"

The door flying open stopped Phoebe in mid-sentence, and caused Joey, who had been standing off to the side awaiting his turn to speak, to stumble a step or 2 sideways, all eyes immediately on the person storming into the room.

Phoebe forced herself not to laugh, having seen that expression on her friend's face a thousand times before. Ross was a very intense and uptight fellow, she thought, and with her laid back attitude, they often times clashed.

"Uh-oh," she teased, "It's scary advisor-man!"

Ross glared at her, continuing to approach Chandler as Joey chuckled at Phoebe's joke.

"It's in every paper," Ross announced, dropping papers one by one onto Chandler's desk so he could see each picture that was on the front page before dropping the next one.

Several papers, at least 7, had as its front-page picture, the president and Monica dancing from the party the night before. Chandler picked up one of the papers before Ross dropped another one atop it.

"The President," Chandler read the caption under the picture, "Danced with his date, Monica Geller," he smiled unknowingly as her name fell from his lips, "No relation to White House advisor, Ross Geller, as 200 guests watched and wondered: who is this mystery woman?"

Chandler chuckled as he tossed the paper back on the stack with the others.

"Ok, so, what about this has you all tense and looking like you forgot to eat your bran today?" Chandler asked with a smirk.

"This is no laughing matter, sir," Ross warned. "This is just the start! The more you see her, the more press it will receive!"

"So?" Chandler shot back. "Let the press talk about it! There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing!"

"Sir, you don't understand," Ross pleaded. "This is unprecedented! People will judge you **now** more than ever!"

"Ross," Phoebe interjected, "I think you're making too big a deal out of this," she informed. "All will work out."

"How do you **know** that?" Ross challenged.

"Because," she replied without a beat, "I'm psychic."

Ross rolled his eyes and turned back towards Chandler. "Sir, I really think you should stop seeing her," he advised. "At least until your numbers climb!"

Ross had started to raise his voice as Chandler shook his head at what his advisor had suggested.

"Nothing doing, Ross," he stated firmly. "We had the best time last night! And I'm not going to stop seeing her on the off chance that my numbers might climb if I do!" 

Chandler raised his voice to stop Ross from interrupting when it looked to him like he was about to.

"I think the President and Phoebe are right," Joey added, interrupting Ross from beginning another rant. "He wants to date her! And she's a real nice gal! And it's not like he's doing anything wrong."

Ross sighed. "I didn't say he **was** doing something wrong!" he countered. "But the public **might**!"

"So," Chandler argued, "Why not wait and **see** what people think **before** getting all worked up!"

"Because by then," Ross replied. "It might be too late."

"Too late for what?" Chandler questioned him. "I already told you, I'm not running for re-election! That would be the only reason why the 'numbers' would matter!"

"But, if you change your mind--"

"No, Ross," Chandler interrupted. "I'm not going to be changing my mind! I've made up my mind! Just as I have made up my mind about Monica!" He poked his finger pointedly at the pile of newspapers, "If **this** doesn't bother **her**, then I am going to continue seeing her!" He stared Ross hard in the eyes. "Do I make myself clear?!"

"Crystal, **sir**," Ross replied, not able to hide his irritation from the tone of his voice.

"You have something you want to say to me," Chandler asked, challenging him.

"No, sir," Ross replied evenly, getting his tone in check.

Chandler said nothing else as he stormed out of his office, needing time alone to think.

Ross took a few deep breaths before turning to Joey. "Run the numbers again," he told him, then turned to leave.

"Shouldn't we ask Chandler--"

"That's 'Mr. President', **Joseph**," Ross cut him off, "And just do what I'm telling you."

Joey glanced at Phoebe before nodding. "Alright."

Ross stormed out much like Chandler had, leaving Phoebe and Joey alone.

"What is up with him?" Joey asked.

Phoebe shrugged. "He just wants what's best for Chandler," she replied. "Unfortunately, he thinks what's best for Chandler is to stay president."

"I don't think that's what Chandler wants," he speculated, causing Phoebe to chuckle.

"Whatever gave you **that** idea?" she teased him, then laughed at the confused expression that followed. "You're right, Joe, he's **not** interested in staying in office.

Joey smiled, having no real idea why Phoebe was laughing. "You think I oughta run the numbers like Ross asked?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You probably should. That way," Phoebe added as they both headed for the door, "He won't explode."

*****~*****

--"I still can't believe you didn't wake me up when you got home," Rachel scolded as she assisted Monica in the large catering company's kitchen.

"I told you," Monica smirked, "It was late and I knew you had to work today."

"So?!" she screeched in a whisper. "A good night's sleep is **second** to a good romance story!"

Monica chuckled. "Read a trashy novel then! Stop trying to weasel details about my dates out of me!"

"Fine," Rachel huffed good naturedly, "Be that way!"

"Thank you," Monica teased, imitating Rachel's tone of voice, "I will! Now, be a doll and fetch me the salmon out of the freezer, please?"

Rachel snapped Monica quick with a hand towel, then scurried off towards the large walk-in freezer before her friend could reciprocate.

"Monica," Kathy called to her as she entered the kitchen, "You have a visitor."

Monica spun around, surprised to be seeing Ross standing there.

"Mr. Geller," Monica acknowledged his presence. "What are you doing here?" Fear shot through her suddenly. "Is Chandler ok?"

"Yes," he replied stiffly, then looked at Kathy as if to say he wanted time alone with Monica.

Kathy huffed and marched away, obviously irritated.

"What's going on?" Monica questioned, then turned to tend to her cooking, one eye still on Ross.

"Have you seen the papers?" he asked.

"Which one?"

"Any of them," he replied, then took one from his suit jacket and unfolded it, extending it towards her.

She scowled as she took it from him, shocked to see a picture of her on the front page. She glanced up at Ross before looking back to the newspaper. Silently, she read the caption under the picture, then the first few sentences of the article before turning back to the food she was preparing.

"Why did you come here to show me this?" she asked. "Is Chandler upset about this or something?"

"No," Ross told her truthfully, "But I am."

"Why?" she questioned.

"His numbers haven't been very good, Monica. May I call you Monica?" he asked, and she nodded 'yes'. "I think there is a potential problem with you dating him."

"Chandler didn't seem to think so."

"Chandler is being naïve," he replied. "If his numbers don't start to climb soon, he will ruin his chance at re-election."

"I thought he didn't **want** to run for re-election."

Ross sighed. "He is having doubts, but I think once he **sees** that the American people like him and trust him, he'll change his mind."

Monica turned the heat down and faced Ross, a hint of a scowl on her face. "Does Chandler know you're here?"

"Monica," Rachel came out of the freezer shivering. "I found the salmon, but the expiration date says--" She stopped abruptly when she saw that they were not alone. "Sorry," she apologized, looking from Ross to Monica, then back again.

Monica took the fish from Rachel's hand, skimming it for the date. "It says 'sell or freeze by', Rache. It's fine." She turned away, knowing the two were still staring at each other. "Rachel Green, Ross Geller. Ross, Rachel."

Rachel moved to shake his hand, but when he reached out, he turned her hand and kissed her knuckles instead of shaking hands with her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ross said with a slight smile, and Rachel felt herself blush.

"I've only ever seen that in movies," she admitted, smiling.

"Look, Ross," Monica interrupted them, "I appreciate that you just want to do what's best for Chandler and his position, but we've had this discussion. And unless **he** tells me he wants to cool it while he figures out his popularity polls or whatever, then I'm afraid I can't help you."

Ross hung his head and nodded. "Alright," he muttered, then looked back up at Rachel. "I guess I should probably go then. You seem busy." He directed the last sentence more towards Rachel.

"Well, actually," Rachel quickly responded, "I was just about to take my coffee break." She smiled as she headed for the door. "Would kinda like some company though," she flirted not-so-subtly.

Ross smiled. "I would love a cup of coffee right now."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Pete's sake, just **go**! All this flirting is making my soufflé fall and my stomach turn!"

*****~*****

--"You're throwing these games when you play with me," Chandler asked as he and Joey played foosball, "Aren't you?"

Joey's expression showed worry and concern. "No, sir," he lied.

Chandler chuckled as he retrieved the ball from the score pocket. "You are a terrible liar, Joe."

"Hey!" Joey was all prepared to be insulted, but then it dawned on him what Chandler had said. "I guess that's kinda like a compliment!"

Chandler nodded. "Sure. Ready?"

Joey nodded, then Chandler threw the ball back into play. "Just play the game, Joe. I'll never get any better if no one challenges me."

"You sure?" Joey asked to be certain.

"Yep. Positive."

Joey shrugged. "Alright." He stopped holding back, and within seconds, scored a goal. "Sorry," he apologized.

"Don't apologize, Joe. It's ok if you win," Chandler assured him.

He grimaced, "If you say so."

Joey got a little more aggressive in the game, winning goal after goal easily, getting a bit cockier after each score.

"I am **so** gonna mop the floor with you!" Joey exclaimed, his mind on winning and no longer on the position the man across the table from him held.

Chandler just chuckled.

"Sir?" Phoebe addressed him as she entered the rec room. "Hey, Joe," she smiled at Joey, making a little kissy face at him before continuing. "You asked me to remind you to call Monica."

"Oh!" Chandler startled, quickly looking at his watch. "Thanks, Pheebs."

"So, who's winning?"

"I am!" Joey announced, smiling broadly.

"Really?" she asked, glancing at Chandler out of her peripheral vision.

"He **told** me to stop throwing the games!" Joey explained. "I'm just doing what he told me to do!"

"Is it like an unwritten rule that everyone is supposed to throw the games so the president can always win?"

Phoebe shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah."

Joey nodded.

"Well, stop it!" Chandler demanded, then picked up the phone. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Yeah, you just don't want me to humiliate you with my 21-to-3 victory!" Joey taunted, forgetting momentarily who he was talking to.

"No," Chandler replied, "I want to call Monica now. We can pick the game up right here later if you want."

Joey flashed his little lopsided grin and chuckled slightly. "Yeah, sure. Sorry about that."

Chandler smiled as he waved. "Bye-bye now."

"C'mon, Joey," Phoebe said as she took him by the arm. "Ross is looking for you anyway."

--Chandler shook his head as he dialed Monica's number, smiling as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?" Monica answered the phone in standard fashion.

"It's me," Chandler replied, and she instantly smiled.

"Hey. I'm glad you remembered to call."

"I couldn't wait to call you," he muttered softly, truthfully. "How was your day?"

"Oh, pretty good," she sighed. "Oh, hey," she suddenly recalled. "Did you know Ross came to see me today?"

*****

--"These are **today's** numbers?" Ross asked as he looked over the poll Joey had just handed him.

"Yeah," Joey replied, pointing at the paper. "See the date?"

"The numbers are up," he muttered, surprised. "Granted, not by much, but still! They're **up**!"

"See? I told you you were worrying over nothing," Phoebe said with a smile.

"Hey," Ross defended himself, "I just have his best interests at heart!"

"I know, Ross," Phoebe reasoned, "But you **have** to stop forcing what **you** want on him. **You** want him to run for re-election, but **he** **doesn't**."

"I'm just trying to look at the bigger picture," Ross sighed. "If he decides he doesn't want to run again, when the time comes, **I'll** respect that! But, it's too soon to make that decision! And if he changes his mind later, I need to make sure I've done all I can so that running a successful campaign is possible."

"Ross?" Chandler's voice caused the three friends to jump. "A word?"

****

TBC

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	7. Seven

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter 7

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Uh-oh," Phoebe muttered, sensitive to Chandler's sudden foul mood. "Why so scrunchy?"

Chandler only glanced at Phoebe, then moved his stare back to Ross. "You wanna field that one, Ross?"

He gestured as if confused. "What?"

"Why are you trying to break Monica and I up?" Chandler confronted him.

Phoebe and Joey both looked at Ross in shock. "What?!"

Ross looked from one to the other, then back to Chandler, wrinkling his face like he often did when becoming defensive. "What?!"

"Did you or did you **not** go to Monica's work today, trying to convince her to break up with me for my own good?" Chandler challenged further.

"I **went** there, but **not** to get her to break up with you!" Ross whined defensively. "I just told her that it might be best for all concerned if you two cooled it for a bit, that's all!"

"You had **no** right, **Ross**!" Chandler snapped. "Especially after I had **just** told you that we would **not** be 'cooling off' just for the sake of the polls!

"What did **she** say when you suggested that?" Phoebe asked curiously.

Ross kept his eyes on Chandler for a few additional seconds before looking to Phoebe. "She said that they had already discussed it, and unless Chandler saw a problem, she would assume there **was** no problem."

"I didn't mean any harm," Ross added. "Or disrespect, sir. I'm just trying to look out for your best interests, long term."

Chandler sighed. "Ross, how long have we been friends?"

"Fifteen years." Ross answered without having to give it a second thought.

"And how long have I been in this office? Vice-president **and** president combined."

"Almost 3 years, sir."

"We've been friends 12 years longer than we've been political partners, Ross! Why is it **so** hard for you to just be my friend?!"

Ross dropped his gaze to the floor. "I don't know, sir."

"Look, I really like Monica, alright? And it's ok if the advisor in you wants to play damage control because of that, but when the day is done, I just want you to be my friend! Just be supportive of my decisions and be happy for me!" Chandler exclaimed in a quiet tone of voice. "Can you do that?"

"I'll try," Ross conceded.

"Thank you," Chandler smiled, then hugged his friend. "Now," he added, "Tell me about Rachel."

Phoebe gasped. "There's a Rachel?"

Joey scowled, "Who's Rachel?"

"Monica's best friend," Chandler informed, then smiled at Ross.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm back in high school?" Ross groaned, shaking his head.

"Come on," Chandler nudged him, "Spill it!"

"There's nothing to 'spill'," Ross insisted. "We just had coffee!"

"You gonna see her again?" Phoebe asked excitedly.

Ross was quiet for a moment, then relented. "Yes, ok? We have a date this weekend."

"You guys should double date!" Joey suggested excitedly, gesturing between Ross and Chandler.

Ross rolled his eyes. "Double date? You have **got** to be kidding me."

"Well," Chandler chuckled, "Maybe not like to the malt shop or whatever! But it could be fun!"

Ross groaned. "I feel a nightmare coming on."

"You're too stuffy!" Phoebe told him. "You're 35, not 65!"

"In a profession of older, more mature individuals!" Ross replied. "I'm just trying to bring some maturity to this office!"

"You see me as immature?" Chandler asked, his face totally serious.

Ross immediately regretted his words. "No, sir, I don't see you as-- The public I think- some see you--"

"Need a shovel?" Joey asked with a smirk.

Ross ignored Joey's sarcastic remark. "I spoke without thinking, sir--"

"We all bring strengths and weaknesses to this office, Ross," Chandler cut his advisor off. "And just because we're not as 'mature' as you, doesn't mean we don't all bring something to the table."

"I know, sir. I was totally out of line. Please accept my apologies," Ross groveled, to which Chandler chuckled grimly.

"Stop acting like I'm gonna fire you at every turn, would'ja? God, it gets old!" Chandler sighed as he started to walk away from the group. "I miss the old Ross," he mumbled, then disappeared down the hall.

"You **do** kiss up to him too much, ya'know," Joey added.

Ross just shot him a brief glaring look, then walked away after Chandler.

***

--"Sir?" Ross called out, walking briskly to catch up with him.

Chandler turned and faced his advisor. "What is it, Ross?"

"I wanted to apologize," Ross panted as he caught his breath.

"You're forgiven," Chandler uttered distantly, then turned to leave.

"Chandler, please," Ross' plea caused Chandler to turn back to face him. "I'm an asshole, ok?" he admitted of himself. "I honestly wasn't trying to hurt you. It's just, I see so much potential in you, to be the best president this country has ever had, and I guess I just let that rule my better judgement."

"Remember when we were in college?" Chandler asked, and Ross nodded in a gesture to continue. "What was your passion? Do you even remember?"

Ross nodded slightly. "Paleontology," he replied.

Chandler smiled as he nodded. "Mine was writing. Remember?"

"Yeah." Ross hung his head, sensing where Chandler was going on his trip down memory lane.

"How did we get so far off track?" Chandler asked. "When was it that we took this huge detour, away from our dreams?" He sighed, "How did we get here?"

"Well," Ross replied, "If memory serves, your dad introduced you to Andy, and the rest just happened from there. You asked for my advice so often," he recalled, "It just seemed natural for me to follow along as your advisor."

"If you hadn't," Chandler asked, "Where would you be now, do you think?"

"I would be globe-hopping I think," Ross said with a smile. "Digging up dinosaur bones. Kinda like an Indiana Jones," he added proudly.

Chandler laughed. "I could see you in the Harrison Ford style hat!"

"What about you?" Ross asked.

"I would be a writer for New Yorker magazine," he replied. "Getting paid to be funny."

Ross smiled and nodded, then a serious expression followed. "You don't want to be here, do you?"

Chandler sighed. "I realize how many people dream of being here, but it's a lot of pressure! And it's just… not what I want to be doing." He looked at the ground, kicking at the carpeted floor before running his fingers through his hair and meeting Ross' eyes. "What if I do something wrong? What if I make a bad decision?"

"There is not a leader alive who doesn't have similar thoughts and fears, Chandler," Ross assured him. "That's what **I'm** here for! That's what the Joint Chiefs are for! That's what Phoebe, and even **Joey** is for!"

Chandler smiled at Ross' attempt at humor, both knowing Joey wasn't known for his keen intellect.

"We're all here to help you make decisions! To give you advice and guidance! If you're in doubt," Ross stated supportively, "If you need **anything**, then lean on us! It's what we're here for!"

Chandler nodded, appreciative of the sentiment, then changed subjects abruptly. "Double-date with Monica and I this weekend," he requested suddenly. "I think if Monica has Rachel with her, it might help her get passed being uncomfortable over my position."

Ross seemed to give it thought, then nodded. "Alright, but, what did you have in mind?"

"Just dinner at my residence. Maybe head over to the rec room for some foosball or darts," Chandler suggested. "Nothing huge. Oh!" he added, "Maybe have Phoebe and Joey come along!"

"They're an item?!" Ross asked, shocked.

"No," Chandler chuckled, "They're just friends. But it'll be fun having all of us together, don't'cha think?"

With a slight smile and a nod, Ross agreed. "Sure. I guess so. I'll have to run it by Rachel."

"She'll love the idea, I'm sure," Chandler assumed. "Let me know what she says, and I'll talk to Monica."

*****~*****

--"Sorry," Monica apologized as the group entered the rec room, "I'm just stating my opinion!" she defended herself. "The meat **was** a little dry."

"I thought it was great!" Joey exclaimed, holding the door open while everyone sauntered in.

"You're just ultra-critical because you're a chef!" Rachel teased. "It was fine."

"**Fine**, maybe, but I could do better," Monica bragged.

"One day you'll have to cook something for us," Phoebe suggested casually as she and Joey laid claims to the dart board.

"Sure!" Monica agreed. "Any where any time!"

"It's not a contest, Mon," Rachel laughed. "Everything with her is a contest," she added, speaking to the others in the room.

Monica laughed along, knowing her best friend was just playing with her. They did that often, while at work and home, so she was used to it.

"How about some foosball?" Chandler suggested. "Two on two."

"Girl-girl, boy-boy? Or co-ed?" Rachel asked.

"Ladies choice," Chandler replied, bowing slightly and gesturing for Rachel and Monica to decide.

"Co-ed," they both said almost simultaneously.

Rachel immediately moved to stand beside Ross, and Monica moved to Chandler's side of the table.

"You might actually have a shot at winning with me on your team," Monica informed sotto, and Chandler laughed.

"Well, if I don't tell him **not** to," Chandler whispered back, "Ross will try to throw the game."

"No throwing the game!" Monica announced, looking straight at Ross.

Chandler nodded when Ross looked to him. "That's right. Just play the game to the best of your ability," Chandler advised. "And may the best team win."

"Ours," Monica muttered quietly, glaring playfully at Rachel who heard her and glared playfully first.

"Let's get ready to **rumble**!" Phoebe called out, causing Joey to laugh.

***

--Phoebe and Joey had played several hands at darts, then moved to watch the competition at the foosball table, the game heating up and close in score.

"Heads up Chandler," Monica muttered, then spun the players hard and scored another goal, winning the game. "We win!" she announced triumphantly, then threw herself into Chandler's arms, embracing him.

"The game was close though, you have to admit," Rachel defended her team of two.

Ross watched as Chandler held Monica, seeing for the first time the connection his friend had been referring to. It was there, and obvious, to everyone in the room.

Monica broke away from Chandler's hold and smirked at Rachel. "Close doesn't win the prize!"

"What prize?" Rachel shot back teasingly. "We were just playing for fun!"

"Well, let's make it interesting!" Monica suggested. "Let's play for money!" she goaded further, "I'll even go easy on you! What do you say?"

"This is where I say goodnight," Phoebe said with a smile as she headed for the door.

"Yeah," Joey added, "I think I'm gonna go too." He patted Chandler on the back as he passed him. "Have fun guys."

"Thanks, Joe," Chandler said with a smile and a small wave.

Phoebe gave Monica a quick goodnight hug, then turned to Rachel. "It was nice meeting you, Rachel."

"You too, Phoebe," Rachel replied sincerely.

"I hope to be seeing you again soon." She discreetly winked at Ross, then moved to stand behind Joey.

Joey smiled at her as she stared at him, waiting for him to open the door. "I'll give you your hug outside," she told him, then pinched his rear.

He startled and jumped, then smiled wide at Phoebe's playfulness. "Yeah, baby!"

They both left, and Monica turned to Chandler and questioned him with her expression.

"You sure they're not an item?" Ross asked, almost as if reading Monica's mind.

"Fairly sure," Chandler replied. "They just love to flirt with each other."

"I should get going too," Rachel informed. "I have work tomorrow, serving at the Kleiman party." She located her purse as Ross poised himself at the door, ready to escort her out. "Coming, Mon?"

Monica smiled at Chandler, then looked to Rachel. "I think I'm gonna stay a bit longer," she said, giving Rachel a knowing look.

"Ah," Rachel nodded. "Ok, so, I won't wait up or anything." She smirked at her friend, then turned towards Ross. After opening the door for her, she turned to leave, but stopped short of exiting the room. "Thanks for having me over, Mr. President."

"It was my pleasure," he replied. "And please, call me Chandler."

She smiled. "Goodnight Chandler," she said with a nod.

"Night," he returned, then gave an up-nod to Ross. "Night, Ross."

Ross gave the up-nod in return, then left with Rachel, leaving Chandler and Monica alone.

"Did you want to play another game?" Monica asked as she gave the foosball table a pat, "Or--?" She stopped her question short when she saw the look on Chandler's face. She smiled wide in return.

"Come back with me to my residence?" he requested, and she nodded in response.

***

--She seemed tense while entering his room, and he smiled as slid his hand down her back just slightly before moving to the liquor cabinet.

"Scotch on the rocks with a twist?" he asked, and she nodded.

He poured her drink, aware that she was behind him scoping out the room.

"I think I have figured out what part of this is," he told her as he started to pour himself a drink.

"You do?" she questioned, not exactly sure what he meant by that comment.

"Yeah." He turned to face her, handing her the drink he'd just poured her before continuing. "It's about sex and nervousness."

She sputtered into her drink glass in response, then looked up at him with an odd expression. "What?"

"Ok," he hurried on, "Just hear me out. When a couple in a relationship **connects**, sex usually follows at some point, right?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"But, now, it's different with us, because I'm the president, and you've been kinda uneasy about that."

She just continued to stare at him, so he kept going. 

"Well, I was thinking, all the former first ladies, they were never nervous about being around their president husbands. You know why?"

Monica squinted as she tried to follow. "No, but please tell me."

"Ok," he proceeded. "They weren't nervous because they met them and married them **before** they became president!"

Confusion made way for comprehension, and she nodded her understanding. "I see."

"Right?" he gestured in response, then continued. "And I know it's going to take some time before you are completely comfortable around me, but I think it's all going to be ok. Know how I know?" he added.

"No, how?" she asked, forcing herself not to smile.

"Because, when we were playing foosball, and, like, tonight at dinner, you seemed comfortable around me!" He paused a moment. "Right?" he asked, looking for confirmation.

She nodded, then handed him her drink. "Can I use your restroom to freshen up?"

"Sure," he pointed down the hall, her drink in his hand. "Down the hall and on the left."

"Thanks."

"I want you to know," he called out, "You can take all the time you need to get comfortable with me. I'm in no hurry and I'm not going anywhere."

A minute later, she reappeared, wearing nothing but her panties and one of his button-up shirts, unbuttoned and strategically draped across her body.

He nearly choked on his drink as he looked at her, his eyes wandering up and down her form before looking into her eyes.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear when I said I wasn't in any hurry?"

She smirked, then the expression dropped from her face in favor of a more seductive one. "No, you were perfectly clear."

"You're not nervous?" he asked, and she slowly shook her head 'no'. "My nervousness exists on many levels," he muttered, backing up a step involuntarily as she started to move towards him. "For starters, and this is in no particular order… it's been a while," he admitted, "And second, any expectations that you might have, given the fact that I'm… you know…"

"The most powerful man in the world?"

"Right!" he exclaimed. "Exactly. But, see, I think it's important that you realize that **that** is a political distinction that comes with the office--"

She cut him off by pressing her lips softly to his, her arms winding up around his neck.

Any nervousness he felt flew away as he responded to her affections, placing one hand lightly on her hip while the other slipped into the opening of her shirt, his fingers dancing across her soft skin.

Slowly, their lips never parting, they inched their way closer to the bed, sliding into it upon reaching it… the night for them just beginning.

****

TBC

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	8. Eight

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Eight

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Hazily, Chandler reached for the phone, it ringing scaring him out of a sound sleep.

"Hmmm, yeah?" he mumbled after fumbling to answer it.

"Where?" he asked, then listened. "Right, ok. - Yes, thank you."

He hung up the phone, then turned on the bedside light, his eyes narrow slits until they adjusted to the sudden brightness.

"Good morning," Monica said with a smile, continuing to pull on her shoes as Chandler moved from the bed.

"That was Phoebe," he muttered as he reached for his boxers, pulling them on before grabbing for his robe.

"Early start to the day," she mused, then jumped a foot when there was a brief knock, then the door swung open.

"Good morning, sir," Ross announced as he entered the room.

"Oh, Ross," Monica said as she jumped from the chair, a sheepish smile accompanying reddening cheeks. "So, sir," she turned to Chandler, "Thank you for letting me sleep on your couch."

Chandler and Ross shared looks before Ross started in.

"They're camped out at every exit!" Ross exclaimed, panicking in his typical fashion.

Chandler rolled his eyes. It was too early for Ross, in his opinion.

"Who's camped out at every exit?" Monica asked, confused.

"The press," Ross replied.

Monica exhaled sharply, "But, why--? How did they--"

"Next time," Ross suggested, "Take a cab, not your own car."

"The press knows my car?"

"Good morning, sir," Joey greeted as he walked into the room. "Mornin' Monica."

"Hi, Joey," Monica returned, dazed by the flurry of activity suddenly around her.

"I think the important thing here is not to appear like we're panicking!" Ross offered, high-strung.

"Too late," Joey muttered with a slight smirk.

"See," Chandler interjected, "I think the important thing is not to **be** panicking."

"Phoebe is waiting for her, sir," Joey informed, and Chandler nodded.

"Give us a minute?" he requested, and Ross and Joey took their cue and left.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked regretfully.

"No," he answered as he wrapped his arms around her. "Just Ross being overly dramatic again." He sighed, "I swear, that man should win an Oscar!"

She chuckled. "Next time, I'll take a taxi."

"Or I'll send someone to pick you up," he offered, then pulled back from their embrace to brush the hair from her face, tucking a few stray strands behind her ears. "I had a great time last night."

"Me too," she whispered, suddenly feeling shy.

He kissed her lips softly, then smiled sweetly, "I'll call you later."

She nodded. "Better go before Ross has an aneurysm."

Chandler laughed, "I think we need to switch his coffee to decaf."

"Yeah," she chuckled, "Or someone to slip him a sedative."

As Chandler opened the door, Phoebe came into view.

"Ready?" she asked.

Monica stole a quick glimpse of Chandler one last time before nodding. "Yeah, I'm ready."

*****~*****

--"Hey, Pheebs, is Chandler still in his 3 o'clock?" Ross asked as he approached.

"Yeah," she replied, her expression suddenly showing concern. "What's wrong?"

Not exactly indicating that there was a problem, Ross wondered how Phoebe could have picked up on his worry, and questioned her without saying a word.

She smiled, "You keep forgetting, I'm psychic."

He grinned in return, then handed her a piece of paper. As she read the words on the page, his mood became clear to her.

"Let me see if I can't hurry him along," she said to Ross as she handed the report back to him, then pushed the intercom button for Chandler's office.

"Yes, Ms. Buffay?" Chandler's voice came through.

"Sir," she replied in a neutral, calm tone. "Advisor Geller needs to speak to you on a matter of importance, when you have a minute."

Chandler knew Phoebe, and even though her voice gave away nothing to the man seated across the desk from him, he knew something was wrong.

"Thank you, Ms. Buffay," he said simply, but it was **how** he said it that clued Phoebe in.

"He's wrapping it up now," she told Ross, quickly pulling out her agenda book.

"How can you tell?"

She chuckled shortly. "I can tell."

Sure enough, a few moments later and Chandler had opened the door, saying goodbye to his appointment as they stood in the doorway, the gentleman shaking his hand courteously.

"Thank you, Mr. President," the man said happily. Obviously the meeting had gone well.

As soon as the man was several paces away, Chandler gestured for Phoebe and Ross to enter his office.

"What's up, Ross?" he waited for Phoebe to shut the door before asking.

Ross cleared his throat, then offered Chandler the paper that had been clutched in his hand. "This just came over the wire, sir."

Chandler read as far as he needed to, then grabbed his winter jacket off the hook in the corner of the room. "Pheebs, cancel my 5 o'clock," he ordered as he slipped one arm into the wool warmth.

"This will be the second time this meeting was cancelled, sir," she informed.

"Can't be helped," he returned, his jacket on and ready to go.

"You're going **right now**, sir?" Ross asked.

"Ross," Chandler said calmly, "I may not have the best political mind, but my common sense is pretty sharp. And do you know what common sense is telling me?"

"What, sir?"

"That it's a **bad** idea to have an airline strike at Christmas time."

"Yes, sir," Ross agreed.

"Grab your jacket," Chandler added, then headed for the door.

Ross nodded, "Yep."

When Chandler opened the door, Joey was two steps away, approaching.

Chandler never even paused in his departure, and Joey immediately fell in line with the others.

"We going somewhere?" he asked, watching as Ross jogged away towards his office.

"Yeah," Chandler replied, his mind on the task ahead of him. When he saw Phoebe click off her cell phone, he asked, "My car ready?"

She nodded, "Yes, sir."

Ross joined them again, running to catch up, his jacket in his hand.

"I have the new numbers," Joey informed Ross, rattling the paper.

"We'll do that on the way," Chandler suggested. "Phoebe, go run and get Joey's jacket please?"

"Sure." She was off in a flash.

"What's going on?" Joey asked.

"Trying to avert a massive airline strike," Chandler told him, his stride brisk and consistent.

Joey acknowledged with a nod Chandler didn't see. "So, we're going…?"

"To St. Louis," Chandler informed, the exit and the waiting car outside within view.

Phoebe ran up just as they approached the door, holding Joey's jacket out for him to slip on.

"I'm sending good luck vibes with you," she told Chandler, and he smiled in response.

"Thanks, Pheebs."

After Joey had his jacket on, Phoebe tossed a scarf over his head, wrapping it around his neck. Then she turned to Chandler. "Where's your scarf?" He pulled it out of his pocket and draped it across the back of his neck. 

With a motherly instinct, she wrapped it around Chandler's neck as she had Joey, then looked over at Ross, who was way ahead of her, his scarf already on.

She followed them out into the cold, the driver standing at the back passenger door of the car, opening it for the president as he approached.

"Bye, Pheebs," Chandler said as he kissed her forehead, then he climbed into the car.

"Bye, Pheebs," Ross muttered, also kissing her forehead before climbing into the car behind Chandler.

"Bye, Pheebs," Joey said with a smile, kissing her cheek.

"Bye, guys," Phoebe waved as Joey climbed into the car. "Play nice," she added with a smile.

"Yes, Mom," Chandler replied as Phoebe gestured to the driver to close the door.

She watched as the limo pulled away, then shivered, returning to the warmth of the White House.

--Ross looked over the new numbers as Chandler re-read the intent to strike from the major airlines, wanting to be prepared to negotiate.

"Up or down?" Chandler finally muttered after Ross' long extended silence.

"Up, sir," Ross replied, seemingly taken aback.

"Really?" Chandler asked, his attention moving to his advisor. "By how much?"

"You've jumped to a 64% approval rating, sir," Ross informed, his tone showing how significant the increase was.

"Really?" Chandler asked, shocked. He gestured for Ross to hand him the paper, which he did. As Chandler read over the page, his expression changed to confusion. "What is this?" he asked Ross, pointing to a specific portion of the polls.

"Well," Ross struggled for an answer. "Basically, it's what people think about your relationship with Monica."

"This is the portion with the most notable increase in percentages." Chandler scowled. "The only reason people like me now is because I'm dating Monica?"

Ross and Joey shared looks before Ross attempted to answer. "Sir, it's not that simple. The people judge on a lot of deciding factors. People see you as ready to settle down, now that you've been dating her for several months. People in committed relationships seem stable and mature--"

"Who said anything about settling down?" Chandler asked anxiously.

"People just assume--"

Chandler sighed, interrupting Ross. "I don't want the only reason being for people liking me to be based on who I'm dating!"

"Chandler, if you'd just look at the bigger picture for a minute," Ross tried to calm him down.

"Oh no!" Chandler exclaimed suddenly, cutting Ross off.

Joey scowled, "What?"

"I have a date with Monica tonight!" Chandler replied, reaching into his pocket. "I've gotta call her. Let her know I have to cancel."

***

--"Oh my God, Mon, that dress looks **so** great on you!" Rachel exclaimed as Monica checked out her image in the full-length mirror.

"Really?" she asked. "You don't think it makes me look slutty?"

Rachel half-glared. "That's **my** dress, Mon."

Monica smiled sheepishly, realizing that her comments sounded like an insult. "Sorry," she apologized, stammering over the words to make it right.

Rachel started to smile, indicating she wasn't as upset as Monica had initially thought.

When the phone rang, Rachel reached for it, letting Monica off the hook, so to speak.

"Saved by the bell," she teased, then offered the caller the standard greeting. "Hello?"

"Rachel?" Chandler asked, recognizing her voice. "Is Monica there?"

"Sure, Chandler, here she is." With a growing smile she handed Monica the phone. "Bet Chandler would **love** you in that dress," she whispered, and Monica shot her a look before answering the call.

"Hi, sweetie! What's up?"

"Bad news," he told her. "I have to cancel our date tonight."

Monica's face fell slightly. "Oh? How come?"

"I have to go to St. Louis to avert a massive airline strike," he said remorsefully.

"Well," she joked, "If I had a dollar for every time I heard **that** excuse!"

He could tell by her tone of voice that she was understanding of the change in plans. "Thanks, Mon. You're the best."

"I know," she gloated jokingly. "So, is Ross going with?"

"Yeah," he said as he glanced at his advisor, "And Joey too."

Monica turned to Rachel. "They can't make the date tonight."

Rachel nodded. "Can he talk?"

Monica took her hand off the mouthpiece. "Rachel wants to talk to Ross."

"Sure." Chandler caught Ross' attention with a wave. "Rachel, for you."

"Hi sweetie," Ross said into the phone, turning away slightly from Chandler and Joey, as if that would give him privacy.

"Can't make the date, huh?" Rachel asked, sounding disappointed.

"Yeah, sorry. It can't be helped," he told her. "But I'll make it up to you."

"I would like that," she said flirtatiously. "Have a safe trip," she added seriously.

"We will," he assured her, then they both said their goodbyes by making kissy noises.

Ross smiled at Chandler and Joey as he clicked off the phone, handing it back to Chandler.

"Well, that was just pathetic," Chandler teased, smirking at his smitten friend.

"Yeah, yeah," Ross muttered, ignoring his quip. "Let's get back to the business at hand, shall we?"

"Alright, but I need to hop out up here first," Chandler replied, getting an immediate negative reaction from Ross.

"Hop out?!" Ross exclaimed. "Hop out where?!"

"At the florist up here," Chandler pointed at the sign as it came in view. "Carl," he called to the secret service agent in charge of his safety. "I'm gonna be hopping out up here."

"You're hopping out, sir?" the driver asked.

"No!" Ross snipped. "There will be no hopping out! It's **not** safe!"

Chandler scoffed. "What do you think, Ross? That there's gonna be some terrorist group in the flower shop plotting my assassination on the off chance that I might stop in?"

Ross stammered as he tried to come up with a suitable argument.

"Look," Chandler interrupted his advisor before coherent words were even spoken. "I broke the date, so I want to get her flowers. That's what gentleman do when they break a date."

"I don't do that," Joey interjected. "In fact, I tell any woman I'm seeing to assume all plans are soft until she receives confirmation from me 30 minutes before the start of the date."

Ross and Chandler both just looked at him in amazement for a second, then Chandler moved to leave the car.

"Come with," Chandler requested of Ross. "Get Rachel flowers! She'll love it!"

Ross watched as Chandler exited the car, the security agent by his side. After a moment's deliberation, he too left the car, deciding that Chandler was right about making it up to the girls with the standard giving of flowers. Joey followed close behind, muttering something to himself about not wanting to sit alone with his thumb up his ass while waiting for the two lovebirds to decide on what and how much to buy.

****

TBC

All the feedback has been great! Please, keep those reviews coming!

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	9. Nine

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Nine

By: Jana~

*****

--Monica strolled into the room and struck a pose, leaning against the door frame in a bright red, soft flannel robe cinched tightly around her waist.

"Merry Christmas." Her deep sultry voice caused Chandler to spin around.

His smile grew when he saw her. "Happy Hanukkah," he returned, approaching her slowly.

She ran her hands up his arms when his came to rest on her hips. "Ready for your present?" she asked.

He fought to keep a grin from exploding across his face. "And where **is** my present?"

She raised her eyebrows suggestively, then took one step back, striking a pose for him once again, one hand on her hip, the other in the air.

He smirked as he fingered the red sash on her robe. "Nice bow," he complimented, his eyes locked on hers as he slowly pulled the tie loose.

When the robe fell open, he inched his hands under the soft flannel, placing them on her shoulders, slowly pushing the robe down her arms. She assisted the robe in falling to the floor, standing before Chandler in nothing but a gold negligee and a smile.

"You like?" she asked, and he allowed his eyes to wander away from her face.

"I love," he breathed, his eyes returning to hers before leaning in to kiss her.

Even though he was referring to the lingerie, to Monica, his comment was like a step forward in their relationship.

"I love you, Chandler," she whispered, working the buttons on his shirt as she nuzzled up to his neck.

He tensed slightly at the whispered words of love, but her lips and breath on his neck relaxed him quickly, before she noticed. He wondered briefly if she would be expecting him to say it in return, but as she continued with her affections, the question soon left his mind.

***

--He watched her sleep, her peaceful expression and pale complexion creating an angelic appearance to her in the dim candlelight of the room.

Quietly, so as not to wake her, he slipped out of bed and threw on a robe, heading for his rec room, hoping that playing a few hands of darts would help clear his mind.

She said 'I love you', just mere hours before, and his reaction to her words was still bothering him. He said nothing to her, not even 'thank you'. He scoffed at how ridiculous that would have sounded, to say 'thank you' in response to 'I love you'.

He headed immediately for the dartboard upon entering the room, giving himself a moment to focus before throwing the first dart.

How could he say nothing in response to her declaration of love? What kind of man does that? He just made love to her, not once acknowledging or reciprocating her words. Was that wrong of him? Was she upset with him? What would he say to fix it if she was?

After throwing the last 2 darts hard at the board, he moved over to the crystal carafe of scotch, pouring himself a finger of the liquor and knocking it back quickly.

Why did he always feel the need to run as soon as a relationship became serious? He'd done the same thing to Janice, back before the election. He tried to convince himself that it was the stress of the campaign, and because of her braying laugh and annoying personality, but deep inside, he knew it was because of panic that he broke it off.

He snatched the darts off the board and began again, throwing them hard in frustration. He missed the bullseye every time, and he scoffed at his poor score as he splashed another finger of scotch into his glass.

"Here's to sucking royal," he toasted the dartboard, holding up his glass briefly before downing the drink in one gulp. The warmth of the liquor spread quickly through his body, warding off the chill of the cool room.

He stared at the door for a few moments, knowing he had to get back to Monica. If she woke up and he wasn't there, she would worry. He pushed off the stool he had been leaning on and headed for the door, his mind no more clear than it was when he had left the warm bed and Monica's side.

--As quietly as a mouse, he entered the room, peeking at the bed to see if Monica was still asleep. His eyes not adjusting at first to the dim lighting, he squinted as he tried to make out her features.

"Where did you go?" she asked, and he sighed as he shed his robe and crawled into bed with her.

"Nowhere," he replied, snuggling up to her. "Go back to sleep."

"Are you ok?" she asked around a yawn, and he mimicked her, the yawn contagious.

"Yeah," he replied, sliding his cold body up against her warmth. "Just have some stuff on my mind."

She shivered, reacting to the chill he brought with him. "Wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head just slightly as his was nestled against hers. "Nah, I'm fine, really."

"K," she murmured sleepily, relaxing and allowing sleep to envelop her.

He kissed her temple, holding her tightly to him, protectively. He didn't know if it was love he was feeling, but whatever it was, one thing was certain, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

*****~*****

--"You have the speech at Raney Elementary School about literacy this Friday," Phoebe informed as she plucked through the pages of the agenda she seemed to always have in hand.

"Just a quick speech," Ross added, "Read a little with a few of the students, good photo op there--"

"And I have the rough draft of the speech," Joey interjected, "If you want to take a look and see if there's anything you wanna add or change…"

"And then after that we have the luncheon meeting with the representatives from Greenpeace about the fossil fuels bill--"

"Sounds good," Chandler interrupted Ross, his mind obviously elsewhere.

"You ok?" Joey asked, scowling at Chandler's odd demeanor. 

Chandler stared at the papers in front of him. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Ross inquired, concerned.

Chandler dropped the papers on the table. "Yes."

"Do you feel sick?" Joey asked.

"No."

"Is everything ok with Monica?" Ross asked.

Chandler huffed, "Yes! I said everything is fine, alright?!" He pushed the papers that sat atop the table at a distance, then stood and walked towards his office window, staring out.

The shortness of his reply and the action that followed immediately worried Phoebe.

"Guys?" she directed the word at Ross and Joey only. "Will you excuse us?"

They waited only briefly to see if Chandler would object to them leaving, but when he only sighed deeply, they quickly stood.

"No problem," Ross muttered, then he and Joey made a hasty retreat.

--"What do you think is wrong with him?" Joey asked Ross as they stood outside the closed office door.

"I don't know," Ross admitted, "But he's been acting weird since just after Christmas."

"If he was sick," Joey inquired worriedly, "He would tell us, right?"

"He's not sick, Joe."

"Maybe Monica is sick?" Joey suggested.

"Rachel would have said something to me if she were," Ross replied. "Let's not get all worked up, ok? We'll wait and see what Phoebe finds out first."

Joey nodded. "Alright."

--"Something's bothering you," Phoebe stated as if fact. "You've been moping around since Christmas. And you're all tense," she added as she placed her hand on his shoulder, standing behind him.

"I'm fine, Pheebs," he replied with a heavy sigh, an indication he didn't wish to discuss the matter. But she wasn't about to let it drop.

"A tense leader makes for a careless leader," she told him as she began working his knotted muscles. "Out with it," she ordered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he mumbled, his head hanging loosely as Phoebe continued her massage.

She took him by the shoulders and led him to a chair, forcibly seating him as she pushed down on him. "I beg to differ," she said firmly, unyielding. "Talk to me."

He sighed again, but it was more from relief than from irritation, Phoebe's massage feeling incredible. "Monica told me she loves me," he admitted after a moment's pause.

She waited for him to continue, but when he didn't, when she realized that was his entire disclosure, she scoffed slightly. "So, she said she loves you," she muttered. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"I guess," Chandler agreed in words, but not in tone. "I just- I wasn't expecting it."

"Oh, yeah," she jeered, "You've only been going out for 5 months! It's inconceivable that she would say that **now**!"

He shook his head. "When she said it, I said nothing in return."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she said 'I love you', and I said nothing!"

"Why?"

"Why didn't I say it back you mean?" he asked. "Because I just don't think I'm ready yet."

"What's the big deal? They're just words."

"Words that mean something!" he shot back. 

"I know that, Chandler. I'm not suggesting they don't--"

"I have to **feel** it to **say** it!" he exclaimed, interrupting her.

"Well, ok, so, how **do** you feel about her?" she asked supportively.

"I like her. I really, **really** like her."

She nodded. "But you don't love her?"

"I don't know," was his eventual response.

"Ok, let me ask you this," she started a new approach to the conversation, her hands working their magic down his spine. "Do you like spending time with her?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you find yourself thinking about her?"

"Only almost all the time," he admitted.

"When you're around her," she asked, "Does your heart race?"

He smiled. "Sometimes." His smile grew. "Most times," he added.

Phoebe patted his hand. "Hon, you're in love."

He stood up abruptly, the smile leaving his face as he started pacing.

"Is that such a bad thing?" she asked, watching as he nervously dashed about aimlessly.

"I didn't exactly have good role models when it came to stuff like this," he confided in his friend. "My mom and dad divorced when I was 9. My mom has been remarried 4 times! My dad has had more gay partners than I can count! Love means marriage," he added. "Doesn't it?"

"Well, it **can** and sometimes **does** lead to marriage, but it doesn't **have** to," she replied. "Just because you are in love with someone, and they you; just because you feel and say those words, it doesn't mean you have to go pick out the ring!"

He shrugged, "I guess."

"Chandler, you are neither of your parents, alright? Just because they can't make a relationship work doesn't mean **you** can't! The inability to commit isn't hereditary!"

"I know that, Pheebs, it's just-- I have a poor record with this. Commitment I mean." He paused before continuing. "Remember Janice?"

She chuckled softly. "Yeah, but she was annoying!"

Chandler smiled briefly, but worry took over his expression once again. "Maybe, but fact remains, I broke up with her cause it got serious! I just… I don't want to hurt Monica like that."

"Like what?"

"Like, I date her for all this time, and she thinks it's going somewhere, leading somewhere, but then I just chicken out and run! Cause I can't go the distance."

"When the time comes," she told him, with a wisdom to her voice that demanded attention, "All of this will be a moot point."

He scowled just slightly. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"When the time comes, you will know what it means," she answered vaguely, again.

"Is this a psychic thing?" he asked with the slightest of grins.

She smiled in return. "Maybe."

"You're a great friend," he said as he hugged her. "I love you."

She pulled back from his embrace. "You can say it to me! Why not her?"

"That's different," he explained. "I'm not sleeping with **you**."

There was a hint of a smirk as she threw him a sideways glance.

"Ok," he conceded. "I'm not sleeping with you **anymore**…"

****

TBC

Ok, I know some are looking for Chandler to be more 'political', but I'll tell'ya, what I know about politics, you could shove in my left ear and still have room to spare. So, in the interest of **not** looking like too big an idiot, I am veering away from the political aspect and dealing moreso with the emotional/relationship aspect, which is what my original goal for this project was from the start.

The reviews have been great! And I really do appreciate all the feedback! So, don't quit on me now! Make my day! Click below and leave a few words of thought!

Thanks!

Please leave a review!


	10. Ten

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Ten

By: Jana~

*****

--"How can you be so sure Chandler will talk to Phoebe?" Joey asked as they headed for Ross' office.

"Because, she is good at getting information out of him," Ross replied. "Plus, they have a history."

"What do you mean?" Joey asked. "So do the two of you, but he doesn't tell you much."

Ross half-glared, then sighed. "Different kind of history, Joe."

"What? They've known each other longer?"

"No," Ross clarified. "I've known Chandler longer than Phoebe has."

"Then. What are you talking about?"

He groaned softly at Joey's ignorance. "They were involved with each other at one point, alright?"

"What?!" Joey nearly shouted. "Phoebe and Chandler used to be an item?!"

"Yes," Ross spoke quietly, encouraging Joey to lower his voice and do the same. "Briefly, but it didn't work out. They've remained good friends ever since."

"I didn't know that," Joey whispered, shocked by what he had just heard.

"Yeah, well, they don't go around advertising it," Ross explained. "So I would appreciate it if you would just keep that bit of information to yourself."

"Oh, yeah," Joey agreed, "Of course!"

There was a long pause as they passed people in the corridors, then Joey spoke up again. "So, what do **you** think is bothering Chandler?"

"I think it has to do with Monica, quite frankly," Ross replied. "But other than that," he shrugged, "I just don't know."

*****

--"I'm telling you, Rache, something's wrong. Something's different."

"Well, when did you start noticing him acting weird?" Rachel asked Monica, being careful not to speak too loudly since the kitchen was full of guests and staff.

"Christmas," she replied simply.

"Did something happen?" Rachel asked. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"No!" Monica whispered harshly, to be heard over the banging of pots and pans. "That's just it! It was a wonderful holiday!"

"And you can't think of anything that happened, anything you or he said that could explain it?"

Suddenly, Monica's eyes grew wide. "I told him I love him," she recalled, looking at Rachel with a slightly freaked expression.

"Then what did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. Oh my God," she gasped as she realized, "I freaked him out!"

"Now, wait," Rachel said in an attempt to calm her friend. "You don't know that. Have you talked to him since then?"

"Well, yeah. That's how I knew he was acting weird."

"Maybe you should talk to Ross," Rachel suggested. "They're close. If something is wrong, Ross will know."

"Could you talk to him for me?" Monica asked.

Rachel nodded, spotting Kathy glaring at them. "Sure. Gotta go," she added, gesturing with her eyes towards their supervisor. Monica just nodded.

Kathy approached, peering over Monica's shoulder as she cooked. Monica, for the most part, ignored her.

"You know," Kathy whispered in Monica's ear, her voice thick with contempt. "Just because you're the president's girlfriend doesn't mean your job is secure."

Monica glared, staring at the food cooking in front of her. "You know, just because you're a bitch doesn't mean Nick will mount you," she retorted, mimicking Kathy's tone of voice.

She huffed loudly, obviously pissed, then stormed off, leaving Monica to smirk triumphantly.

*****~*****

--"Come in," Chandler called out to whoever was responsible for the soft yet determined knock.

Ross poked his head around the door. "Do you have a minute, Chandler?"

He nodded. "Sure, Ross. What's up?"

"I was talking with Rachel earlier," he began, approaching Chandler's desk slowly. "About Monica."

"What about her?" Chandler asked, immediately concerned.

"She thinks you're upset with her. She says you've been distant."

Inwardly, he was relieved that she was ok. "I've had a lot on my mind," he replied, trying to sound casual.

"What are you doing, Chandler?" Ross asked, half-scolding. "Monica is the best thing to ever happen to you! Why are you pushing her away?"

"I'm not!" he shot back. "I'm just… trying to do my job, alright?"

Ross shook his head. "No, it's not alright! I know you, man! I know when something is bothering you! Now, what's going on?"

Chandler sighed. "Look, I've just got some stuff to work out, ok? That's all."

"Oh, that's all?!" Ross patronized. "You're gonna blow this, Chandler!"

"Blow what?!"

"You're numbers have never been better! And like it or not, it all comes down to the fact that you've been dating Monica!"

"Is that all she is to you?" Chandler asked angrily. "Numbers on a poll?!"

"Of course not--"

"She's a person, damnit!"

"Then start treating her like one!" Ross yelled back. "Call her! Tell her you still care about her! Cause right now, she's doubting you do!"

Ross didn't wait for Chandler to respond, he just stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

--Anger made way for guilt as he stared at the door, taking in Ross' words. He was right, not about the numbers on the poll, **that** he could care less about. But Ross **was** right about Monica being the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He turned his attention to the phone, his eyes boring into it before he finally picked it up. He began to dial a number, then stopped abruptly and placed the receiver back down.

What would he say? He didn't know. He just wasn't ready to talk to her yet. He picked up the phone again, this time shuffling through his rolodex for a number he didn't have memorized. 

Finally finding it, he dialed.

"Hello," he greeted cordially. "I would like to order one dozen roses, please."

*****

--Monica stepped out of the building and into the strobe light effect of all the photographer's cameras snapping away, their subject: her. She plastered on a civil smile and wiggled her way through the bodies and chaos, almost chanting her new mantra as question after question came flying at her… 

"No comment. No comment."

It was becoming virtually impossible to go anywhere or do anything anymore, what with the media hounding her every time she so much as stepped out of her apartment. They followed her on jobs, to the store; one photographer even followed her into the woman's bathroom. And he was a **man**.

Sometimes she just felt like screaming 'get a life', but she was briefed by Phoebe on how best to deal with the press, so that is what she did.

"What is your response to the reports that the president looks to you, a simple chef, for advice on political decisions?"

"No comment."

"Any talk of marriage?"

"No comment."

"Any truth to the rumors that the president is only dating you to better his popularity amongst the voting public?"

Monica could feel herself cringe. That hadn't been the first time someone had suggested that to her.

"No comment." She announced, then unlocked her car door and squeezed inside, leaving the press outside her window, still shouting questions at her.

--Carefully, so as not to run over any of the people buzzing about her car, she backed out of the spot and headed for home, weary from her day at work, the confrontation with her witch of a supervisor, and her growing fear that she had blown it with Chandler.

--She had more press to contend with when she pulled up to her apartment building, her neighbors glaring at her for bringing the chaos to their quiet community. She smiled sheepishly at old Mrs. Janeway as she struggled her way into the lobby, where the press wasn't allowed.

"Hi, Mrs. Janeway."

The old lady said nothing as she glared, then turned and walked away.

"Give my best to the 'we hate Monica' club members," she mumbled as she checked the mailbox before heading for the elevator.

--"My day **sucked**!" Monica announced as she entered the apartment, slamming her purse on the counter as she removed her coat.

Rachel ran in from her room, an ear-to-ear grin across her face.

"What are **you** so happy about?" Monica asked curiously.

"Just thinking about how your day might just get better," Rachel said as she pointed at a gold box on the dining table.

Monica looked at it for a moment, then approached it, plucking the card off the top of the box.

"To my dearest Monica," she read aloud, "Thinking of you and missing you greatly. Will call you soon. Chandler."

"See?" Rachel chirped. "He's just been too busy to call or something! He **is** the president you know," she added.

Monica smirked. "Yes, Rache, I am aware of that." She looked over the card, reluctant to believe it was as simple as that.

"Stop worrying," Rachel ordered kindly. "Everything is fine, I'm sure."

"Yeah," Monica muttered softly. "I guess."

*****~*****

--"What's with you, Pheebs?" Chandler asked, noting her odd behavior.

"Nothing," she replied, her face set in a scowl.

He wasn't so sure he believed that, but Ross rushed on about their itinerary, so he dropped his concerns for the time being.

"I get it Ross, ok?" Chandler finally cut him off, stopping him from rambling on further. "How many cups of coffee did you drink already this morning?"

Ross semi-glared, "Just trying to keep you abreast of the situation."

Joey started to giggle, to himself mostly, and Ross and Chandler both shot him looks - Ross an irritated look, Chandler an amused one.

"What are you snickering about?" Ross asked.

"You said 'abreast'," Chandler replied, his smile growing wider when Joey confirmed with a nod.

"Not 'a breast', Joe," Ross explained, exasperatedly. "'Abreast', meaning to keep informed."

Joey rolled his eyes, "I know what it means, Ross. I just happen to find it to be a humorous word."

"Ok, enough of vocabulary for the demented," Chandler announced. "We have a school full of kiddos waiting to hear a boring speech by the president with the funny name, so let's say we get this show on the road!"

Phoebe shuddered, almost violently, and Chandler noticed, **again**. It was the third time she had done that in the last 15 minutes.

"Pheebs? Are you sure you're alright?"

She nodded at Chandler. "Fine, sir."

"Come here," he ordered, placing the back of his hand on her forehead, checking for a fever. "You don't feel warm."

"It's not physical," she stated softly, only meaning for Chandler to hear it.

"What?" he asked, inviting his friend to open up, "What is it?"

"Something's not right," she whispered.

"Is this a psychic thing?" he asked, whispering back.

She nodded. "I just-- I don't know what it is, but something is very wrong."

He scowled with concern. "Well, should I cancel the speech?"

"You can't," Ross interjected, butting into their semi-private conversation. "This is too important."

"Can't do what?" Joey asked, not hearing anything that was said before that point.

"Cancel the speech," Ross answered.

"Why can't we do the speech?" Joey asked.

"Phoebe is--"

"Phoebe is fine," she quickly replied, interrupting Chandler. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause this."

"Cause what?" Chandler asked. "You didn't do anything wrong. I value your opinion," he told her supportively. "And you **never** have to apologize for looking out for me."

She smiled. "Well, in my opinion, you should give the speech. The kids would be disappointed if you didn't," she reasoned. "Besides, I don't even know what it is I'm feeling. I just know something is off in the universe."

"You can **feel** that?" Joey asked, amazed.

"Sometimes," she replied.

"And what does that feel like?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know.

"Like, you know how when you get a piece of apple stuck in your teeth?" she asked, finding a comparison he would understand. He nodded in response. "Ok, it's like that. How it feels like all your teeth are screw-jawed?"

"Oh, right," he gestured in understanding. "It feels like that? Really?"

Ross rolled his eyes, "Sir, we need to get going."

Chandler agreed. "Come with, Pheebs," he requested of her. "That way, if whatever this is becomes clear, you'll be able to clue me in quick."

She nodded, inwardly pleased at how open Chandler was to her gift. "I can do that."

"Fine," Ross muttered. "So, now that **that's** all settled, can we go?"

"Yes, we can go," Chandler muttered. "And no more coffee for you!"

Everyone snickered except Ross.

*****

--Chandler waved as the kids called out their goodbyes, waving frantically and happily, the press clicking pictures hurriedly. He was vaguely aware that Ross and Joey were talking about the next meeting, vaguely aware of Phoebe several steps back and to the left.

The speech had gone well, but what Chandler found to be the best part of the day was when he was reading to the second graders. They hung on his every word as he dramatically read and acted out the story.

He could see himself having kids some day.

He stopped just before getting into the car, turning and waving back at the kids, Ross and Joey waiting patiently on his left, Phoebe standing to his right. Then, she shuddered.

It all happened so fast after that…

Chandler's blood ran cold as he looked at her ashen face. She looked scared, or like she had just seen a ghost. "Pheebs?"

"Oh my God," she muttered, her eyes wide. "Chandler?" she whispered, then utter chaos erupted.

--He only really heard the first two shots, then he was tackled to the ground by 3 secret service agents. He could hear kids screaming, and panicked voices all around him.

"Eagle is down! I repeat, eagle is down!"

"Get him in the car!"

"The shooter is down!"

"Secure the area!"

"Get the kids in the school, **now**!"

"Call the ambulance!"

"Was he hit?!"

"Eagle is wounded! Repeat, eagle is wounded. Secure the route!"

"We're going to get you to the hospital, Mr. President. Don't worry about a thing…"

****

TBC

Love the reviews! Not only does it charge me creatively, but it gives me good story ideas as well! Keep it up!

Please leave a review!


	11. Eleven

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Eleven

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Where is the blood coming from?!"

"Don't touch him! You're not a DR!"

"I need to stop the bleeding!"

"Eagle ETA, 3 minutes."

"The premonition didn't come fast enough, Chandler," Phoebe cried. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault, Pheebs," Joey consoled, the wrinkles caused by his worried expression the only sign of how distraught he was.

"Wounded?" Chandler choked out the question to anyone who could answer it.

"Sir?" Ross asked as he moved closer to him.

"Wounded, besides me?" He coughed, then winced from the pain it caused. "The kids?"

"No civilians were wounded," Ross reported.

No civilians were wounded. That sentence buzzed about in his mind.

"Who was hit?" Chandler asked again, knowing someone besides him, someone who worked for him had to be injured.

"Carl, sir," Joey replied, receiving a stern look from Ross.

"How bad?"

"He's on his way to the hospital, sir," Ross answered before Joey could.

"The shooter?"

"Dead, sir," a secret service agent replied.

Chandler reached for Phoebe's hand, seeing how distressed she was. She took his hand and kissed it, her tears wetting his knuckles.

"I'm gonna be ok, Pheebs," Chandler assured her, a small sob escaping her.

--A flurry of activity kicked up like a tornado when they pulled into the hospital parking lot, the secret service agents and hospital staff working together to secure the area and help Chandler from the car and onto a gurney.

Ross, Joey, and Phoebe followed close, feeling helpless as they watched the DRs and nurses work on their friend, shouting orders and hooking up monitors, starting an IV and stripping his clothes from his body. He looked so pale.

"Get everyone who doesn't need to be here out and in chairs!" a Dr snapped as he buzzed about Chandler with confidence.

A nurse approached Ross, Joey, and Phoebe, gesturing for them to leave and follow her to where they could wait.

Phoebe's hands covered her mouth as tears flowed freely, and Chandler tried for a small smile as he gave her a shaky thumbs-up.

"If he needs blood," Joey announced as they were led away, "We'll donate!"

*****

--Monica ignored the photographers who were a slight distance away, snapping pictures like she was some sort of celebrity as she waited to purchase her new pair of shoes. The conversation happening behind her was of little importance to her, till she heard something that shot through her like a bolt of electricity.

"I just heard it on the news!" the woman behind Monica in line exclaimed, directing the comment to the friend she was with. "The President was shot?!"

Monica spun around, her eyes wide in shock. "What?!"

"Oh my God!" The woman pointed at Monica. "You're Monica Geller!"

"Chandler was shot?!" Monica asked in panic.

The woman scowled. "You haven't heard?"

"Oh my God," Monica muttered, dropping her shoebox to the ground before running from the store.

"George Washington Hospital!" the woman called out as Monica disappeared from view, the photographers running after her.

*****

--"Does Monica know?" Chandler asked, sounding tired as his body continued to rid itself of the anesthesia.

"Yes, sir," Ross replied. "And actually, she's here."

"They won't let her in," Joey added.

"Why not?" Chandler asked weakly.

"Because of her connection to the shooter," Ross answered hesitantly.

"Let her in," Chandler ordered.

"It's secret service, sir," Ross advised. "They say it's too risky--"

"Let her in **now**," he repeated his order, his voice as stern as it was strained.

"Yes, sir," Ross nodded, then turned to leave.

"How's Carl?" Chandler asked Joey and Phoebe, knowing immediately by their reaction that the news he was about to receive was not good.

"He didn't make it, sir," Joey said sympathetically.

Chandler closed his eyes tight as that piece of news sunk in. "I barely knew him," he whispered, obviously choked up. "Did he have family?"

Phoebe hung her head, her eyes downcast. "A wife, sir. No kids."

Chandler nodded.

When Monica rushed into the room, Ross right behind her, all 3 secret service agents in the room tensed, at the ready to draw their weapons.

Chandler noticed, and waved at them to stand down, Monica didn't notice as she ran to Chandler's side.

"I'm alright," he told her as she looked him over, afraid to hug him for fear of causing him pain. He grasped her hand in his and kissed the back of it. She squeezed it tight, leaning in and kissing his face several times, eventually placing her lips on his. They felt so cold.

"Please don't die," she whispered, her cheek against his.

"You can't get rid of me that easy," he joked, smiling warmly at her as she pulled back.

"I've never been so scared," she admitted, leaning with her elbows on the bed so that she could be as close to him as possible. "Where were you hit? Why did they need to operate?"

"To remove the bullet. It hit my left arm, upper arm, and went through my bicep, through my side to lodge near my ribcage."

"Did they catch who did this?" Monica asked. "Why did he do it?"

"Why does anyone attempt something like this?" he asked, shaking his head. "To make a name for themselves? Be in the history books? Cause they don't like the government and they're lashing out…" He sighed as he wiped the tears from her face. "Mon, sweetie, better if you hear this from me."

She scowled. "What?"

"The shooter," he whispered. "You know her."

"What?"

"The shooter was Kathy."

Monica jumped back, utterly shocked. "What?!"

"Hun, she was shot and killed," Chandler told her carefully. "At the scene."

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed in a whisper.

"There will be an investigation," he went on to explain. "They'll want to talk to you. And Rachel," he added, "Since you both worked with her."

Monica nodded. "They think I was involved, don't they? That's why they wouldn't let me in to see you!"

"They're just being careful," he replied.

She shook her head, returning to his side. "I could never hurt you," she told him. "I love you! And I'm sorry if that freaks you out, but it's the truth."

Chandler smiled. "It's a little frightening, but that's not something I want you to worry about, ok? I just- I have issues--" He looked around at the room full of people. "We'll talk about that later," he said quietly, then gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

He looked exhausted, his eyelids heavy and drooping, and she didn't want to press the matter when he was so obviously drained. "Ok," she smiled. "When you're feeling better."

*****

--"I had a bullet removed," Chandler complained, "I didn't have a lobotomy! I think I can feed myself!"

"Oh, hush," Monica scolded, extending the spoon towards him. "Eat your pudding."

"Why do well people push pudding on sick people?" Chandler asked after eating from the spoon.

"Because."

"Oh, now **there's** a good reason! '_Because_'!"

Monica smiled, feeding him another bite. "Just eat your pudding, you big baby!"

"I'm actually eating the pudding like a big baby! What with you feeding me like I'm incapable!"

"I don't think you're incapable," she told him. "I think it's fun to feed you!"

"Oh, well, in **that** case!" he exclaimed, opening wide for the next bite, causing Monica to chuckle. "Maybe later, I'll get to feed **you**."

She smirked, "Not till you're better, Drs orders."

He sighed. "They're being too overprotective! If I was just some guy, with some boring job, they woulda slapped a band-aid on it and sent me on my way!"

"That's an exaggeration."

"Maybe, but they wouldn't be **this** overly protective, you can bet on that!"

"They're just being careful," she defended the Drs. "I for one happen to agree with them on this."

"That's because you like having me all to yourself," he teased.

With a slight smirk, she set the pudding bowl down on the tray, then pushed the bedside tray away. He watched as she slowly climbed onto the bed with him, straddling him, inching further up his body.

"I **love** having you all to myself," she confirmed, slithering carefully up to meet his lips with her own.

"Sir, I was--" Ross stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around so his back was to them. "I'm **so** sorry, sir," he apologized. "I should have knocked."

Monica groaned softly as she climbed off of Chandler, grabbing his tray off the table and excusing herself. "I'll leave you gentleman alone."

Ross nodded at Monica as she moved past him.

"What's up, Ross?"

"Just came by to see how you were doing."

Chandler groaned. "I'm going stir crazy! It's been a week! Sitting here in this bed! Unproductive! I hurt my arm, not my brain!"

Ross chuckled. "It's policy, sir."

"I'm the president! I hearby change the policy!"

"It doesn't work that way, Chandler. Sorry."

"Fine," he huffed jokingly. "How's Phoebe?"

"Still blaming herself."

He sighed and shook his head. "Send her in later, will'ya?"

"Sure. Look, sir," Ross began hesitantly. "We all got together, pitched in, for Carl's widow." He pulled a card from the file folder he was holding. "And I was wondering if you would like to sign--"

"Yes," Chandler interrupted, his hand outstretched to take it.

Ross handed it to him, then a pen, waiting patiently as he looked it over.

"How is she doing?" Chandler asked softly as he signed his name.

"As well as can be expected, sir."

He nodded, then handed the card back.

"So, how's Monica?" Ross asked, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, she's fine," Chandler said with a smile. "She's wonderful, in fact."

"Did she tell you?" Ross asked. "She was questioned about Kathy. Rachel, too."

He nodded. "She told me."

"Kathy had been planning this for a while," Ross informed. "According to her journal found at her apartment. Since just before we hired the catering company."

"That's why she wanted to work here," Chandler added, to which Ross nodded.

"Oh! Also!" Ross suddenly remembered. "Each class at Raney Elementary sent you letters and get-well cards!"

"Really?" he asked, touched by the gesture. "That's so great!"

"I can have them brought up to you," Ross offered. "If you want."

"Yeah," Chandler nodded. "Thanks."

"Ok, so, I'm gonna go." Ross gestured towards the door, took a few steps, then stopped. "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you… mad at me?" Ross asked hesitantly.

"No," Chandler replied without pause. "Should I be?"

"Well, I sorta pushed you into going to that speech. If I had just listened to Phoebe and--"

"Ross," Chandler interrupted. "This is in no way your fault, alright? It's no one's fault. Except Kathy's," he added. "I don't want you blaming yourself for this, alright?"

Ross nodded, but didn't seem any more at ease.

"Ross," he scolded. "I mean it! That's an order! No blaming yourself!"

He nodded again, a little more assuredly, then quietly left the room.

"He blames himself, huh?" Monica asked as she entered the room from the back.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Phoebe does too, apparently."

"They all love you, Chandler."

"I know," he sighed as Monica climbed into bed beside him. "I love them too."

*****

--"Awww," Monica cooed, "Look at the picture this kid drew for you!" She extended the hand drawn picture, colored in with bright crayons of Chandler waving at the school.

He took it and smiled. "This is **so** great!" he exclaimed. "**This** is the best medicine, right here," he said, gesturing to the bins of cards and letters they had yet to and already had opened.

She stole a glimpse of him admiring the picture, a bright smile on his face, and she inwardly smiled. "You would make a good dad," she said softly, taking a chance and broaching the subject.

He slowly lowered the picture from his line of vision, his eyes focusing on Monica. "You think so?"

She nodded. "You ever think of having kids? You know," she added, "Someday?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I think I would like a little Bing, or Bingette," he added quickly. "But I would need a most wonderful woman to be the mom. You know, someone who is kind, and nurturing. Someone who can bake fantastic cookies and kiss boo-boos to make them better." He smiled when she did. "You know I'm talking about you, right?"

She chuckled as she shook her head. "Yeah. I know." She kissed his lips softly, briefly, then her expression grew serious as she adjusted her position on the bed. "Something's changed, since the shooting," she said with a slight scowl. "Just after Christmas, you grew distant, but then after the shooting…"

"I was confused," he admitted, "When you told me you love me. And I guess a little scared."

"Scared of love?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Why would love scare you?"

He sighed. "My parents made it seem as if it was something to fear. As if it were evil and horrible and to be avoided. And as an adult, sure I knew better than to still believe that, but I guess some of those old feelings lingered beneath the surface, kinda doing that 'Tell Tale Heart' thing. Except, instead of a heartbeat, it was saying," he put his hand to his chest and thumped his fingers in a heartbeat-like rhythm, "'Fear love. Fear love.'"

She laughed, placing her hand over his, over his heart. "You know what I hear?" she asked, "When I listen really close to my heart?"

He shook his head, and she took his hand and placed it to her heart, thumping her fingers against his. "True love. True love." He smiled. "Do you hear it?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I think I do." He freed his hand after a moment, running it through her hair, bringing her closer to him so he could kiss her.

When the kiss started to grow needy, she pulled away. "Not till you're better," she scolded.

"Oh, come on!" he whined. "I'm fine! Besides, it's good for what ails you." He winked suggestively.

She laughed, then leaned in close. "Ok, but only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"I do all the work."

A sly grin spread across his face. "Were you expecting an argument?"

She returned his smile as she crawled into his lap. "Not really."

****

TBC

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	12. Twelve

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter Twelve

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Phoebe knocked quietly on the door before peering around the corner, hesitant about entering.

"Pheebs! Hey!" Chandler greeted, waving her in. "Come on in!"

"I didn't want to bother you if you were sleeping," she offered as an excuse for her hesitance.

"Nope, not sleeping," he replied, a wide smile crossing his face as he patted the side of his bed, requesting that she sit and join him.

She didn't say anything at first, and he remained silent on purpose, waiting for her to start, knowing she was struggling for something to say. He knew she blamed herself for the assassination attempt. He knew that was why she hadn't stopped by to visit him.

"How are you feeling?" she finally asked.

"Oh, pretty good, considering. Just anxious to get the all-clear so I can get out of this bed! I'm going stir crazy!" he added with a chuckle.

She forced a smile. "Well, we all miss you."

"I've missed you too! I haven't really seen you since--" He stopped the sentence abruptly as her gaze dropped to her lap.

"I've been busy. You know, working."

"Ah," he nodded. "And how are you getting along with the VP?"

She shrugged, "He's a bit green."

He laughed, "Greener than me?"

"Surprisingly enough," she said with a genuine laugh.

"Pheebs, you know this wasn't your fault, right?" Suddenly changing the subject to the uncomfortable topic caused the slight smile on Phoebe's face to instantly fall away, tears immediately pooling in her eyes.

He took her hand when she started to cry, offering his friend comfort. He felt horrible for being the one indirectly responsible for causing her such anguish.

"If I had just gotten the premonition a few seconds sooner," she said through her tears.

"And what if you didn't have this gift? Or what if you hadn't come with that day? There are a lot of 'what if's in the world, and if you dwell on them, you'll drive yourself crazy."

"You're like my family," she sniffled. "You, Joey, and Ross. If anything had happened to you--"

"Nothing did," he jumped in, stopping her from imagining the worst. "I'm going to be fine."

"I know." She wiped at her tears, drying her face. She seemed emotionally distant, and he knew he needed to get her to open up in order to get back to where they were before the shooting. To the friendship they'd always had.

"Tell me what you saw," he asked of her. "In the premonition."

He had a feeling that a lot of Phoebe's uncharacteristic behavior and despondency was somehow linked back to what she saw mere seconds before the bullets rang out.

She shook her head at first, but when he muttered a simple 'please', she relented.

"Keep in mind," she prefaced, "Sometimes these visions are almost dream like." He nodded, then gestured for her to continue. "The bullet was large, in the vision. Like, cartoonish kind of large. It hit you, and your eyes changed from blue to black, like your pupils instantly dilated. You slumped to the ground, covered in blood, your face twisted in pain… and I could see your soul leave your body, the same twisted expression on your face…"

She trailed off, and he could tell it was a painful memory to relive. "That must've been really scary," he said softly as he gave her hand a squeeze in support.

She pulled her hand free and threw her arms around him, making him wince slightly as she bumped his wounded arm. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you," she cried, and he held her as tight as he could with his healing injuries.

"You'll never have to find out," he whispered, sweeping her hair back from off her shoulder as he nuzzled up to her neck.

Comfortable in doing so, Monica walked in without knocking, startled by what she saw upon entering. Phoebe, in Chandler's arms.

She wasn't jealous so much as she was confused, and she cleared her throat to announce her presence.

"Monica, hi," Phoebe muttered, moving away from Chandler quickly and wiping at her face.

Chandler sighed, emotionally drained, then smiled at Monica with as much effort as he could muster. "Hi, sweetie."

"Everything ok?" Monica asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah," Chandler replied, watching as Phoebe stood.

"I have to get back to work, sir," she said softly, then headed for the door. "Get better soon."

"Thanks, Pheebs. I will. Come visit again, ok?"

She smiled, "Ok."

She walked out the door, and Monica looked to Chandler for an explanation as to what had just transpired.

"She blames herself," he began. "Because she had that psychic vision. But because it was only seconds before, and because she didn't have enough time to warn me, she blames herself."

Monica nodded sympathetically, then joined him on the bed. "She gonna be alright?"

"I think eventually. I think she was just really worried that I was going to die."

"We all were," Monica added, then leaned in and kissed his worried lips. "You ok?"

He nodded. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Phoebe," he replied simply. "And Carl," he added. "His funeral is tomorrow."

"Yeah," she acknowledged softly.

"I can't go, because I'm still recovering," he complained. "But I don't want his widow thinking I don't care."

"I'm sure she realizes that you're still healing," Monica assured him.

"I suppose," he shrugged, then inhaled sharply at the pain it caused.

With a slight smile, she kissed his lips again. "When you're better, go pay her a visit," Monica suggested. "Let her know the Drs wouldn't let you attend."

"Yeah," he agreed absently.

His mind obviously elsewhere, he sat silently as Monica lazily ran her fingers up and down his thigh, knowing if she just gave him time, he would open up to her. 

"I just wish Carl didn't have to die," he muttered eventually, his voice choked and his eyes glistening with tears.

"You should practice what you preach," she told him, receiving an odd expression from him in response. "You consoled Ross and Phoebe, telling them not to blame themselves, because it was no one's fault, yet here you are blaming yourself for Carl's death. It's no more your fault than it is theirs," she added firmly.

"A man is dead," he sighed, "And it's because of me. Whether it's my **fault** or not is irrelevant," he added sadly. "Especially to his widow."

*****

--Monica walked around the grounds outside, her brain mulling over all that Chandler had confided. He blamed himself for Carl's death, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

She tried to reason with him, to help him realize that Carl had trained hard to get the position he'd had, and knew the risks. But to Chandler, none of that mattered. A man was dead, shot while trying to protect him.

She crossed her arms as a chill breezed through, noticing that she was not alone on her walk. Up ahead and by himself, was Joey.

"Hey, Joey," she called out when within earshot.

"Oh, hey Monica." He stopped walking, waiting for her to catch up to him. "What'cha doin out here?"

"The Drs are in with Chandler, so I thought I'd take this time to clear my head a bit. What are you doing out here?"

"Working on his speech," he replied. "I think better when I'm out here," he added with a slight lopsided grin.

She smiled in return. "How'd you get the job as Chandler's speech writer, anyway?"

"Well, I'm actually an actor, but that wasn't working out for me, so, he offered me the job."

"So, you knew him before working for him?"

"Not exactly. I was in this horrible play, and he had snuck out of the White House and ended up front row!" He laughed, "All that trouble to sneak out and he ends up at the worst play **ever**!" He shook his head, "Anyway. He approached me, just to be polite and say 'good job' or whatever, and we got to talking. Ended up talking for hours!"

"Wasn't it weird?" she asked. "Knowing you were conversing with **the** President of the United States?"

"I didn't recognize him," he replied, smiling sheepishly.

She snorted a laugh, "How could you **not**?"

He shrugged. "Just not up on politics. Anyway, it came up that I had no gig lined up after the play ended, which was in 2 days, so, he offered me the job as his speech writer."

"Without knowing anything about you?"

"Yep!" he exclaimed. "That's the kind of man he is."

She nodded in agreement. "What about Phoebe? When did she enter the picture?"

"**I** met her when I started working here, but Chandler and Ross, **they've** known her for years. They met her at this coffeehouse they used to go to all the time back in New York. She used to write and sing all these weird songs, for tips, and her and Chandler just hit it off, right off the bat. Phoebe and Ross didn't get along so well, you know, in the beginning, I think because they are just **so** different. They're friends **now**," he added, "But back then, not so much."

"This one time," he laughed, "Phoebe told me that she mocked the theory of evolution. Well, then, Ross tried and tried to convince her that it was the **only** logical explanation, but the more he tried, the more she played with him. He stopped talking to her for 2 weeks because of that!" He chuckled, more to himself than anything, "I love that story."

"What about Ross?" she asked. "What's **his** story?"

"He and Chandler met in college. They were roommates, actually, and they remained friends. He's a good guy. A bit intense sometimes, but he loves Chandler."

"So do you," she interjected. "I can tell."

"Yeah," he agreed. "He's like a brother to me."

"You don't have siblings?"

"No, I do. All sisters," he replied. "Seven of them!"

"Wow! Big family!"

"Yeah! I've got so many nieces and nephews now," he joked, "I've lost count!"

Monica laughed, then paused politely before moving on. "So, Chandler, Ross, and Phoebe all knew each other before you entered the picture, hmm? Did you feel like an outsider?"

"Not really. Chandler has always been real good about making all of us feel important."

"You and Phoebe get along well," she mentioned casually, to see what he'd say.

"Yeah. She's great."

"She blames herself for the shooting." When she changed the subject, the smile left Joey's face.

"I know she does. I keep telling her it's not her fault, but I don't think she's listening to me."

"Chandler tried to tell her, too. She was really upset earlier, and crying. Chandler was holding her…"

"They're really close," he said with a nod. "Which is surprising, cause usually when you break up with someone, you **don't** remain friends."

Monica scowled. "They used to date?"

"Yeah. Not for long though, I guess. When it didn't work out, they decided to be friends instead."

Monica tried not to look upset, but inwardly, a twinge of jealousy crept into her heart.

"I just found that out myself recently," he continued. "No one ever told me that! Not even Phoebe, which is weird, cause she's pretty much told me everything about her past! **This** life **and** past lives," he added with a chuckle.

Monica started to unintentionally tune him out, her mind elsewhere, buzzing with images of Chandler and Phoebe embracing. Not usually a jealous person, she found the feelings to be unsettling, an instant headache taking hold as her heart fluttered with anxiety.

Was he secretly dating Phoebe on the side? She tried to remember every conversation she'd had with both Phoebe and Chandler, trying to look for clues so to answer that question. Joey chattered on, unknowing of the emotional chaos he'd just unleashed in his new friend's mind.

"And since the polls have been going up so significantly since you two have been dating," Joey said, this sentence being the one to bring Monica out of her thoughts. "Ross has been almost **pushing** Chandler to continue seeing you--"

"What?" she asked, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

The frown on her face immediately caught Joey's attention. "What?" he repeated, questioning what he'd said to cause that reaction in her.

"Mr. Tribbiani," a sharply-dressed secretary addressed him as she approached. "Mr. Geller is looking for you."

"Ok," he acknowledged her, then turned back to Monica. "Sorry, I have to go."

She nodded, the frown still present on her face.

"Are you ok?"

When she focused long enough to see the concern on his face, she forced her expression to become more neutral. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She watched him walk away, her brow creasing once again. Minutes before, she was in love with a man she was certain loved her in return. Now… doubts.

Was he dating her only to boost his popularity amongst the voting public? Was he secretly dating Phoebe? Would she be better off waiting till he was well before asking him about it? **Should** she ask him about it?

Questions pelted her mind as she wandered distractedly back towards Chandler's private residence.

She walked in the door, glancing around briefly before heading back to his room.

"Hey, babe," he greeted her. "Drs say all is good!" he informed. "So, looks like I'll be back in the captain's chair before long."

He could tell by her expression that something wasn't right.

"Is something wrong?"

She looked him square in the eyes, but still having no idea what to say, she shook her head, then moved to grab her suitcase from the closet.

"I have to go home now," she told him, grabbing clothes from the dresser.

"What?" he asked, confused by her abrupt need to leave. "Why? What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened," she replied, still packing. "But, I've been here for a while, and now I need to go back home."

"Something **is** wrong," he stated firmly. "Talk to me."

"Look, you're fine now, right? Drs say you're healing and all is good, so, you don't need me here."

"You're wrong," he said softly. "I **do** need you here."

She spun around, ready to confront him, but found she couldn't. "I gotta go," she muttered quickly, then darted from the room, with only some of her belongings.

"Monica!" he called out, trying to leave the bed quickly, without causing himself pain in the process. "Wait!"

She didn't even slow down as she ran out the door, Chandler getting there just in time to see her disappear around the corner.

He just looked on in shock, his brain trying to comprehend what had just happened. "What the hell--?" he muttered, then walked back into his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

****

TBC

Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. My grandmother died on Friday, October 11th, and it's been hard to get my creativity going again.

This story is almost done! One or two more chapters, I think. Glad you have all been enjoying it! Please, just because we're near the end doesn't mean the reviews have to stop! Please, take a sec and click below and let me know what you think!

Please leave a review!


	13. Thirteen

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter 13

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Damnit!" Chandler barked, slamming the phone down.

"Still won't pick up?" Ross asked, extending Chandler's suit jacket so he could slip into it.

"No!" he grumbled. "I'm the president! I should be able to **make** her answer the phone!"

Ross suppressed a chuckle, "It doesn't work that way, sir."

"I just don't get what happened!" Chandler exclaimed, wincing as he pushed his sore arm through the jacket sleeve. He gave Joey an up-nod as he entered, then continued. "Everything was great! Now, she won't talk to me! She's having Rachel tell me she's not there, when I know she is!" He turned to Joey, "Yes, Joe?"

"I have the final draft of the speech," Joey informed as he handed the paper over.

Chandler took it, read two sentences, then revisited the subject he had been ranting on about seconds before. "What could I have done? Do you think it's because she's freaked out about the assassination attempt?"

"Maybe," Ross offered. "What exactly did she say?"

"That she had to go back home, but wouldn't give a reason." He sighed, "Before she went on her little walk, she was fine! The Drs came in, said they needed to examine me… **fine**! She kissed me goodbye, asked if she could take a quick walk around the grounds, I said sure. She left, came back about 45 minutes later, and she was acting weird and distant and she just **bolted** from the room!"

"Sir?" Joey spoke up, involving himself in the conversation.

Chandler looked at him for a brief second, then waved the pages of the speech. "I'm sure it's great, Joey. Thanks."

Joey shook his head, "No, not that, sir. I mean," he added, "I hope you like the speech, but that's not why I'm interrupting."

"Oh." Chandler scowled. "What is it, Joe?" The expression on his friend's face denoted concern.

"Monica stormed out after her walk Tuesday?"

Chandler's scowl deepened. "Yeah?"

"I saw her while she was out on her walk," he informed, almost hesitantly.

"Did you talk to her? Did she seem upset?"

"Not at first," he replied. "We were talking, and-- and everything was fine, but when I went to leave," he looked at and gestured to Ross, "Cause you sent Susan after me," he turned back to Chandler, "She seemed upset."

"Did she say why?" Chandler asked. "What did you talk about?"

"She said she was fine," he assured him, "And we just talked about… **stuff**. You, me, Ross, Phoebe. How I got this job. How long we've known each other." He shrugged, "**Stuff**."

"Joey, try to remember," Chandler spoke to him sternly, almost fatherly, "What was said right **before** she seemed upset?"

He gave it thought, then frowned. "I'm not sure, I think **maybe** it was after I had mentioned that you and Phoebe dated for a while."

Chandler seemed shocked. "You know about that? Did Phoebe tell you that?"

Joey fidgeted, then glanced at Ross.

"**Ross** told you?" Chandler asked, looking between the two men.

"I didn't mean to," Ross defended himself. "It just, slipped out!" 

"Same here," Joey added, wincing as Chandler sighed exasperatedly and threw his good arm in the air.

"That's just great," Chandler mumbled, upset, tapping on his desk before dropping into his chair.

"No, wait," Joey suddenly remembered. "No, she seemed shocked by that, but she didn't seem all that upset at that point."

Chandler moved to sit at the edge of his seat. "Think, **Joe**, when **did** she seem upset?"

Joey seemed flustered as he tried to remember. Suddenly, his face lit up. "I had said something about Ross freaking on the polls. That he was your guys' strongest supporter cause your numbers went up after you started dating…"

"Oh my God!" Ross exclaimed. "Do you even **listen** to what comes out of your mouth?!"

"What?!" Joey snapped back defensively.

"**Joe**," Chandler sighed sharply, "She probably took that to mean that I am only dating her to gain popularity!"

Joey's eyes widened, finally understanding. "Oh, God!"

"Add to that the revelation about Phoebe," he added, then grabbed for the phone. 

After dialing the number, he waited, then rolled his eyes as the machine picked up. "Mon, it's Chandler. Look, I'm not sure if this is why you're avoiding me, but Joey told me he spoke to you. Hun, I'm not dating you because of the polls. I don't care about the polls at all! Ross does, but I don't. I care about **you**! And I'm sorry I didn't mention the thing with Phoebe, but it was a long time ago, and we're really just friends. Please," he sighed, "Please, call me and talk to me. We can work this out, I'm sure of it. Love you."

He hung up the phone sadly, looking at Ross and Joey before clearing his throat. "When is the speech?"

"Thirty minutes, sir," Ross replied.

Chandler nodded, then buzzed Phoebe on the intercom. "If Monica calls, patch her straight through, please?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, a happy lilt to her voice that hadn't been heard since the shooting. "And sir?" she added. "Welcome back."

Chandler smiled. "Thanks, Pheebs."

*****

--"I think you should call him," Rachel said as they both sat on the couch, the answering machine clicking off.

"I can't, Rache. I can't be his trophy girlfriend. I can't stand the thought of him and Phoebe…"

Rachel sighed as Monica trailed off. "He sounded pretty sincere to me. You should at least talk to him."

She shook her head, tears spilling freely. "I can't. If I get in the same room with him, I'll believe anything he says."

"You really love him, don't you?"

"Yes, damnit!" she growled, upset with herself for falling for him. "I knew this was a mistake from the beginning," she added sorrowfully.

"Isn't it possible, **possible**," she reiterated for emphasis, "That you're blowing this out of proportion, **not** giving him a chance to explain his side of this, because you're afraid?"

She scoffed, "Of what?"

"Love," Rachel replied.

"You have any idea how lame that sounds?" Monica criticized, rolling her eyes before closing them tight.

Rachel smirked at her friend's insult. "Is it?" she asked rhetorically. "I'm not so sure. **I** think, it's starting to get really real. Really serious, and then throw in the shooting, and the fact that Kathy was behind it. The fact that she was so jealous of you that she felt the need to rob you of your joy by plotting Chandler's death. I think all of that was building to this point. Then, you throw in the little conversation you had with Joey," she paused, and the silence caused Monica to open her eyes and look at her. "You were looking for an excuse to bail, and he gave it to you."

"That's not true," Monica countered. "He was using me! He lied to me--!"

"No," Rachel stopped her, "Ross was drooling over popularity polls, and Chandler blew him off, cause the numbers don't matter to him. And he never actually lied to you," she added. "Did he ever **deny** dating Phoebe?"

Monica scowled, pulling her knees to her chest and pressing her forehead against them. "No."

"At least give him the chance to tell his side, Mon. You owe him that much. He's been nothing but wonderful to you, don't bail cause it's hard. He's the best thing that has ever happened to you, and you know it."

Monica looked over at her, and Rachel smiled and nodded, driving the point home. She knew Monica knew it.

*****

--Ross nervously checked his watch again, reluctant to re-remind Chandler of the time. "Sir," he said softly. "We really should--"

"I know," Chandler interrupted, glancing at his watch.

"Just give her time, Chandler," Ross instructed. "One thing at a time, ok? First, you'll give the speech, **then** we'll focus on Monica."

Chandler nodded in agreement, though not assuredly, then pushed off his chair, standing and straightening his suit jacket. "Fine."

***

-- "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the press, my fellow Americans: welcome. Firstly, I would like to say a few words to those watching and listening tonight. I want to thank you, on behalf of my friends, family, and myself, for your messages and flowers, and most of all, for your prayers. Prayers not only for me, but for the others who fell beside me. The warmth of your words, the expression of friendship and love, meant more to us than you can ever know."

"Some have said that this attempt on my life is the result of a sick society. That this is evidence that **ours** is a sick society. I disagree. The society I heard from in the form of letters, cards, flowers, prayers, is a society made up of millions of compassionate Americans and their children, from kindergarten to college-age. And in fact, I brought along one such letter to share with all of you."

"This letter comes from a young man who attends second grade at Raney Elementary. He said, 'Mr. President, I sure hope you get better soon, cause if you don't, you might have to give a speech in your pajamas, which would be really embarrassing'. He added postscript, 'P.S., if you **do** have to make a speech in your PJs, don't wear ones with pictures of horses or cowboys, cause then all your friends might laugh at you'."

"Sick societies don't produce the outpouring of well wishes I have received over the past few weeks. Sick societies don't produce young men like Secret Service agent Carl Thompson, who selflessly threw himself in front of me when the bullets rang out, giving up his life for another, simply because he felt that's what his duty called for him to do. Sick societies don't produce proud Americans, so very proud of its fellow citizens."

Chandler paused, staring at the teleprompter which contained the next lines of his speech, then he sighed and looked away.

"I'm gonna head off on my own here for a moment," he informed, glancing at a worried Ross and Joey. "As most of you know, for the past six months I have been dating a Ms. Monica Geller, but as of today, I have not seen or spoken to her for nearly a week. She has been avoiding me, nursing a broken heart because well-meaning yet misguided friends led her to believe that the only reason I was dating her, was to win the approval of the American people."

"I know that I'm not the beloved president that Andrew Douglas was, but please believe me when I say that I am doing the best I can, to do the job I was elected and sworn in to do. I loved Andy like a brother, and I would never do anything to disgrace his memory or this office, like date someone just to win popularity votes. Your confidence in me is important, but I'm not willing to hurt others to gain it, and whatever else you might think of me, I would hope that you would at least give me that."

"This press conference was called to show that I am well, and healing from the injuries caused by Kathy Brewster, when she attempted to take my life earlier this month. I think I have shown that, and I hope that my deep appreciation for all the well wishes I have received by so many has been conveyed, but for now, I must leave."

"I need to go to Monica, to assure her, and hopefully convince her that I was dating her **not** for popularity's sake, but because I truly and deeply care for her. Hopefully, she will believe me and take me back." He collected his papers and gave a quick up-nod, "Thank you."

He left the podium, heading for the exit as Ross and Joey quickly followed, to be joined by Phoebe as they entered the hall, all the while, the press shouted out questions as their president disappeared from sight.

****

TBC

Ok, one more chapter, and we're done. 

Just to give credit where credit is due, some of Chandler's speech was taken from President Reagan's speech, given April 28, 1981, a few weeks after the attempt on his life.

And, as I'm sure you know, reviews make my day. Please make my day.

Please leave a review!


	14. Fourteen

**__**

The One With The President

Chapter 14

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Chandler was vaguely aware of the shouted questions, of the public relations advisor trying to quiet and calm the members of the press, but none of that was a top concern for him as he left the podium and headed for his office.

"What the hell did you do," Ross moaned as he followed Chandler closely, which was no easy task due to the near-sprint he was in.

"I told the truth," Chandler replied, his stride remaining steady.

"The truth?! That's the press room, not a confessional!" Ross snipped, causing Chandler to glare his way briefly.

"Don't start with me, Ross," Chandler warned, his pace never faltering.

"You can't just go off on tangents every time the mood strikes you, Chandler!" Ross scolded as he struggled to keep up. "Now we have to think damage control."

"Why?" Chandler challenged his advisor. "I didn't say anything bad!"

Ross exhaled sharply, exasperated. "What if you can't get Monica back? What if she doesn't forgive you? The American people **might** think it's because there was some truth to all the things you just denied out there today!"

Chandler made a gesture of dismissal. "I don't care about that!"

"Ok," Ross offered instead. "What if the American people decide that you're telling the truth? They might **then** decide that Monica is a bitch for not forgiving you and taking you back!"

Chandler slowed for a step or two at the thought of that, but his pace picked right back up again. "We'll deal with that **if** and when the time comes."

"But we wouldn't **have** to if you hadn't gone off half-cocked, spouting off about your personal life!" Ross explained, his tone of voice and indication of just how upset he was.

"I'll have you know I was fully cocked when I started spouting off," Chandler quipped, which got an exasperated sigh from Ross in response.

"Why do I even bother?" Ross asked rhetorically, as he threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"Ross, relax," Chandler ordered. "Take a chill pill or something," he added, to which Ross just rolled his eyes. "Ok, Joey," Chandler glanced at his speech writer, "You're up."

"Half the speech!" Joey whined. "Half the speech, **gone**!" Wild hand gestures to illustrate just how upset he was accompanied his rant.

"I'm sorry, Joe," Chandler apologized. "My mind was elsewhere."

"Why do you have me on staff again?"

"To write me speeches I never finish?" Chandler replied with a chuckle, then grew serious in response to Joey's reaction. "The very next speech you write, I promise I will finish in its entirety."

Joey shook his head and fell back a few paces, grumbling to himself.

"Phoebe," Chandler addressed her, and she double-stepped a few times to catch up to him.

"Yes, sir?"

"I need a car," he told her as he entered his office, his entourage following him straight in.

"Yes, sir, I'll have your car--"

"No, no," he corrected her, spinning around to face her. "I don't want **my** car, I want some plain non-presidential car."

"Sir?" she questioned him, confused.

"I want to go to Monica's, but I don't want it turned into a federal case. I don't want to issue an executive order, and I don't want a motorcade following me! I just want to go to my girlfriend's apartment in a plain ordinary automobile and grovel for her forgiveness. Now," he added, "Can you work your magic and arrange that?"

"Yes, sir," she replied with the hint of a smile, then immediately went to work on that task.

"Sir," Ross offered his opinion, "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I have to get her back, Ross," Chandler replied as he plopped down into the large chair behind the even larger desk. "Can you just take the advisor hat off for a minute and put on the friendship hat instead?"

"I **am** your friend, Chandler," Ross insisted, "But sometimes, friends have to dole out tough love."

Chandler raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. "Tough love, huh?"

Ross nodded. "That's right! It is not safe for you to go over to Monica's without any agents! Without even doing a security sweep!"

"You're paranoid," Chandler casually dismissed his concerns.

"No, I'm not! **You** are unrealistic! This isn't like the flower shop, which, by the way I also thought was taking an awful risk! Nearly the entire country heard that speech today! You all but **told** them you were going to Monica's! It only takes one whacko with a gun showing up and you'll leave this office a lot sooner than you had anticipated! And in a body bag!"

"You're so melodramatic," Chandler muttered.

"Look, you may have a death wish, but I'm not about to stand idly by while you place yourself in harm's way!"

"Oh, you're not?" Chandler queried with a hint of jest in his tone.

"No," Ross glared slightly, "I'm not! Not when there are safety precautions we can take to assure you don't get your fool head blown off!"

Chandler sighed, deciding to ignore the 'fool head' comment as he hit the intercom button, "Any luck Pheebs?"

"Still working on it, sir," the disembodied voice replied.

"Thanks." Chandler turned his attention back to Ross.

"Let the agents do a security check first, at least!" Ross pleaded.

"It'll take them too long!" Chandler shot back. "She could be half way to China by the time they're done!"

"She's not planning a trip to China, Chandler! This is just you being stubborn!" Ross snapped. "If not **that**, then, let the agents bring **her** to **you**!"

Chandler scowled in thought. "What if she refuses to come?"

Ross shrugged, his expression and gesture indicating that her refusal wouldn't necessarily matter.

"No!" Chandler barked. "I will **not** have her brought here against her will! She has to **want** to come! God, Ross, this isn't some gangster movie, for crying out loud!"

"I'm not suggesting that she be hit over the head and thrown into a burlap sack, Chandler. Just to simply persuade her that she needs to accompany the agents back here to see you."

"No," Chandler reiterated. "Absolutely not. That is **not** an option."

"Stop tying my hands!" Ross snapped.

"Stop trying my patience!" Chandler shot back, standing abruptly, his stance combative.

"Look," Joey interrupted the near-fight. "Ross is just concerned about you. We all are! None of us want a repeat of the Raney Elementary incident, ok? So, let's just all calm down here and try to come up with a solution that everyone can live with. Alright?"

Chandler nodded, then looked away from Ross, helping to diffuse the tension. "Fine," he mumbled, then retook his seat.

Ross threw Joey a look of gratitude for backing him up before turning to take a few steps away from Chandler's desk.

"What if we have Rachel bring her?" Joey suggested after a needed pause. "Have Ross call her and explain things to her. Rachel could probably talk Monica into coming fairly easily."

"Unlikely." That one simple word caused everyone in the room to turn attention to the individual whom uttered it. "She doesn't have a license and she **hates** Dupont Circle."

"Monica," Chandler whispered, bolting up out of his chair as she entered the room.

She smiled at him, but it dropped gradually as she looked at the ever-serious Ross and the slightly confused Joey. "Hi Joey. Ross."

"Hey, Monica," Joey nodded. "We were just leaving." He nudged Ross, who quickly agreed and followed out the door.

"I'm surprised you're here," Chandler muttered, his eyes locked on hers.

"I could leave--" she offered, a sadness to her expression.

"No, no," he quickly stated, his hands palms-out, the gesture implying that she misunderstood what he meant. "It's not a **bad** surprise…" Her smile returned. "It's a good surprise," he told her. "A **very** good surprise."

"I heard your speech," she informed, then waited for his response to her simple remark.

He nodded. "I didn't say those things to get you to come back," he assured her. "I said them because I meant them."

"I didn't come back because you said those things," she replied softly, approaching him. "I came back, because I love you."

She threw her arms around him, bringing him into a tight embrace, sighing contentedly when he wrapped his arms around her in return.

Relief washed over him at having her back in his arms, and he vowed right there and then, silently to himself, that he would never lose her again. 

"I love you too."

*****~*****

--Chandler plopped down in his comfortable chair, totally exhausted from the day's and evening's events. With a large yawn he clicked on the TV, loosening his tie as he surfed through the channels.

"And in his Inaugural speech," the anchor of the news show Chandler had stopped on reported, "President Bing promised to work to build a single nation of justice and opportunity."

"Yes I did," he said to his television, talking over top of the reporter as he kicked off his shoes. "Now tell me who won the game!"

"Talking to the TV again?" Monica asked as she appeared in the doorway, already dressed for bed.

"Man, you change fast," he pointed out, smiling and gesturing for her to join him.

She approached with a smirk, then curled up on his lap. "Come to bed," she ordered. "**Mr. President**."

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he whispered, "I will, **Mrs. President**."

She leaned in to accept his kiss, his hand inching under her robe to find her wearing nothing beneath. He smiled against her lips.

"Skepticism surrounded the campaign in the early weeks following the announcement that he would be seeking a second term, critics claiming that it was his new bride, Monica Geller who was pushing him to run. The controversy prompted the president to hold a press conference, to assure the American people that although his wife stood in support of his decision one hundred percent, it wasn't **her** wish that he run for a final term, but **his**."

Monica glanced at the TV, briefly noting how the reporter's serious tone of voice matched her equally serious attire before she snagged the remote from her husband and quickly pushed the power button.

The TV went black as she tossed it aside, making it near impossible for Chandler to retrieve it.

He groaned, "But I wanted to check out the scores!"

"It's not like you had money on the game," she teased. "The scores will be there tomorrow." She climbed off his lap and took his hand. "Come to bed."

"Leader of the free world and I am getting bossed around by my wife," he muttered jokingly, pushing off the chair with his free hand as she led the way to their bedroom.

She smiled to herself. "As it should be," she quipped, dragging him along behind her. "As it should be."

****

THE END

Ok, that's it. All done. I know this chapter was a bit short, but I hope you liked it none-the-less. Even though this is the last chapter, **please** click below and leave a review!

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